


A Campaign of Shock and Awe

by Evehs_Lullaby



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 79,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evehs_Lullaby/pseuds/Evehs_Lullaby
Summary: The present and the past, while they stand alone are never really separate things. They intermingle and become the windows to who they were then, who they are now and how love does in fact paint a funny picture.Cross posting some of my older fics
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

UST VISITING (Present Day)

She didn't hate New York, because really who could hate New York, but she wasn't in love with the city either. It was her antithesis. It was loud and bright. It wasn't layered in superficiality like Los Angeles…at least not the same kind of superficiality, the kind that she had conquered years ago when she was a teenager. New York was East Coast and she was West.

No, she didn't hate New York. She just hated visiting.

It's cold and she pulls her coat tighter towards her body as she enters her final destination. It's early, way too early especially considering her flight had landed only two hours before. She's almost too tired to even remember where it is she has flown from. She's been on the go for the last month promoting her latest endeavor. This is the final leg of her media tour and she's equal parts relieved and irritated that her last stop has to be New York.

As she enters the studio, she's greeted by some members of the talk show's crew. They guide her to her dressing room and rattle off information to her, which she hardly bothers to pay attention to. These interviews are all the same. Once introductions are finished, she's left alone in the dressing room and she finds the nearest cushioned surface and then sits down.

She takes a few deep breaths knowing that at any moment the crew of people that will make her look Hollywood Fabulous will be knocking on her door. This was the only silence she'd be given for the next couple of hours. She thinks about glancing at her mobile phone to see what new messages she has, she even considers updating her status on Twitter. She can tell all her millions of follows that she is in a dressing room prepping to do yet another interview.

In the end, she decides against moving at all. She sits and waits, wishing she could just sleep, but it isn't time for sleep. It's time for her to work. Personal time would just have to come later. The knock she has been waiting for comes and within moments she's thrust back into the swirl of her life.

She transforms into the star she's supposed to be and before she realizes it's time, she's walking onto the stage with a crowd applauding her arrival. She takes her designated seat between the female hosts and smiles pleasantly.

"Thank you so much for being here," the woman on her right greets. "We're so glad to have you back."

"Thank you for having me." She smiles and rests her hands on her lap as she crosses her ankles.

"So, I know you must already be hearing the word Oscar about your portrayal of Eclipse in Dream Massacre, which I think is much deserved," the host to her left says.

"Thanks," she gives an uncomfortable smile.

"I don't think anyone expected this of you, based on your previous roles. So, tell me how did you even get involved in this project? What made you want to be Eclipse?"

"Oh, well Ann and I are good friends and she basically just told me she wanted me to do this movie with her," she answers, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"Ann Sanders, the director?" The same host fills in.

"Yes, Ann Sanders." She confirms.

"So you just did it?" The host furthest to her left asks.

"Yeah, pretty much," she smiles again self-deprecatingly.

"So what did you think when you finally realized what you were getting into? Because everyone must of thought this was a pretty far out idea. Musicals are usually…happier." The same host follows up.

"Well," she draws out the word. "I really didn't think about it. I trusted Ann to do her thing and didn't worry about what other people were saying."

"So, just to give some of the viewers an idea of what we're talking about," the host furthest to her right breaks in, "why don't you tell us a little bit about Death Massacre and your character Eclipse?"

"Oh, yeah, okay." She laughs softly. "So, um, the movie is about a girl who escapes to these sort of fantasy dream worlds while she's on drugs and each world represents some past or future event in her life."

"And it's told through song," the thus far silent host adds.

"Yes," she laughs again as she nods her head. "It's told through song."

"But not just any songs," the same host adds as she looks down at the blue note card she's holding in her hand. "You sing songs by Rob Zombie, Disturbed, Korn…some pretty interesting stuff."

"I was really excited about it. It's so rare that women are given the opportunity to sing that genre." She steers the conversation away from being controversial. "It was all pretty awesome."

"Well you are fantastic in it. It's an amazing film." The host nearest her left turns back to the camera. The interview is over, cut short because the first segment took too long. "Up next we have the cast of the hit Broadway Musical Live Feed singing Apocalypse."

The crew signs that they are on commercial and once again she is thanked by the hosts and then ushered off stage. She resists going back to the dressing room and instead requests to sit in the front so that she can watch the next segment. They find her a chair, and with seconds to spare she is seated and watching as the next guests are introduced.

"In what critics have said is this generation's RENT, please welcome to the stage the cast of Live Feed singing the hit Apocalypse."

The audience applauds and she applauds with them. The cast of the Broadway show begin performing and a short three minutes later the song ends and the lead member of the cast is brought to the front. She's breathing hard from her recent performance and is asked a few mundane questions before the talk show's time slot is over.

She gets up as soon as the show is over, not wanting to get stopped by any of the audience members who might have wanted to talk to her. She thanks the crew for everything and hurries back stage and to her dressing room. She steps out of her clothes and changes into something more casual.

She's just finished de-glamming herself when there's a soft knock on her dressing room door. "Come in," she says softly not bothering to turn towards it.

The door is softly pushed open and seconds later just as softly pushed closed. "So…"

She turns around towards the voice, recognizing it immediately. "So…" she replies with a smirk on her face.

"We knew this would happen sooner or later. The longer we avoided it, the higher the probability was becoming we'd eventually end up in this very situation. I have once again proven, on live television no less, that I am in fact possess the superior talent."

She rolls her eyes. "You're something else, Berry." She's not being dismissive. She's actually feeling a little nostalgic.

"Yes, well." It's said jokingly. "It has been a pleasure to see you again, Quinn. I hope you aren't too overwrought."

Quinn's smirk doesn't disappear. "Would you like to have dinner, Rachel?"

"When?" Rachel asks, maybe a little too earnestly.

"Well," Quinn looks around hoping to find a clock somewhere. She sees nothing. "How about now?"

"Now?" Rachel asks seeking clarification.

Quinn shrugs. "Now. It's got to be dinnertime somewhere in the world, right?"

Rachel smiles. "I'll meet you in a few minutes." She turns and then leaves Quinn alone. Quinn shakes her head, not quite prepared for whatever it is that is going to become of her day, but she doesn't shy away from uncertainty. She thrives on living out life wholly unprepared.

Of course she had known that Rachel Berry was going to be a guest on the same show. It hadn't come as a surprise. Nor had it been a surprise that Rachel had the gumption to seek Quinn out and gloat about her performance.

Quinn turned towards the mirror. She looked at her reflection and laughed, because her life was full of ironic humor. She delved into her memories of high school and thought about Brian Ryan and how he had told Glee Club how unrealistic their dreams were. Sadly, he had been right. Most of her fellow Glee members were still living in Lima, Ohio spinning the wheel on the cycle their parents had laid out before them.

She and Berry had each been one of the lucky few to break away. Quinn had run away to school in Berkeley with her father's guilt money and Rachel had chased down her dream in New York. They hadn't kept in touch, but once Quinn found herself acting in small indie films she had begun to meet people who knew Rachel Berry. Even while inhabiting different coasts, their social circle was relatively small, and as they got more successful the circle kept growing smaller and smaller. It eventually had shrunk enough that they had been at the same concert to see a mutual friend performing in New York: Emilie Nguyen.

At the end of her show, Emilie had invited both Rachel and Quinn on stage for an impromptu jam session. It had been the first time Rachel and Quinn had sung together since high school. It had felt good, comfortable. They had gone out after the concert, well… they had gone out a lot after the concert. They talked about Glee and how unlikely they thought it was that they would ever see each other again.

Quinn had never previously voiced her interest in pursuing a career in the entertainment industry, but that was only because she hadn't had an interest. She had fallen into the profession when she had taken an English Composition class with an aspiring director, and had offered her acting talents for free. One web series later and she was suddenly in the business.

Rachel, conversely, had earned her success through effort and unrelenting determination. She auditioned for everything and never gave up until someone turned a 'no' into a 'yes'. She doggedly perfected her talents and bent the world into submission.

Still, despite how different life had been for them, Quinn couldn't step off the path that led her back to Rachel and apparently Rachel couldn't either. They became cordial and cordiality turned into friendship. They kept one another grounded, or as grounded as they could manage with Rachel's ego getting in the way and Quinn's occasional bouts of superiority, because they reminded each other of their imperfections and insecurities.

It was disarming to have a person around who had been around when dreams were really only wishes made by blowing out the candle on a birthday cake. They had known each other as they suffered through stifling puberty and suffocating self-discovery. They were constants in world that offered little long term security.

There was another knock and Quinn turned towards the door expecting Rachel's return. She was surprised when instead of the Broadway sensation, one of the hosts walked in.

"I just wanted to apologize about cutting your segment so short," the host offers.

"Don't worry about it," Quinn waves away any concern. "I understand."

The host nods. "Good." She suddenly looks nervous, her eyes darting around the room, but she eventually settles on Quinn. "I was also wondering if perhaps you would want to go out sometime?"

Quinn's taken aback. She hadn't been expecting this. Although, she wasn't completely surprised either. She had gone to lunch with the co-host the last time she had been on the show. It was a casual meal that Quinn has taken as more of a friendly outing rather than a romantic one.

She opened her mouth to reply, but was saved from it when Rachel re-entered claiming that she was ready to leave. She stops at the sight of Victoria and looks to Quinn for answers.

"Rachel," Victoria greets, "you did a really good job today. I hear you're going on tour soon?"

Quinn dislikes small talk, but she's accustomed to it so plays along. "She is," she answers for Rachel as she reaches out and pulls Rachel nearer. "She's like a rock star now."

Rachel rolls her eyes, but laughs anyway. "Quinn exaggerates. I am going on tour with the show. We're bringing Broadway to the masses."

"The plebeians of Middle America must also get their chance to bask in her greatness," Quinn playfully interprets.

"You two know each other?" Victoria ventures to guess, though some might call it stating the obvious.

"We're off record, right?" Quinn asks unnecessarily.

Victoria's blue eyes widen. "Of course."

"We're engaged," Quinn replies her tone gravely serious.

"W-what?" Victoria sputters. "I had no…"

Rachel hits Quinn's side. "Nevermind her," she tells the other woman. "She gets an unhealthy pleasure out of tormenting others. Apparently, it's not something everyone outgrows."

"Oh," Victoria looks confused unsure of what to believe now. "So you aren't engaged?"

"No," Rachel grins. "We're married," she deadpans.

Quinn laughs. Victoria is still looking at them with questioning eyes.

"I'm sorry, Victoria," Rachel eventually apologizes. "Unfortunately, when Quinn and I are together we tend to enjoy havoc." She looks up at Quinn. "The world was probably safer with us on separate coasts."

"Probably," Quinn agrees and then turns her attention to Victoria. "But, honestly, Rachel and I are married."

"If Janet Jackson could keep her marriage secret for thirteen years, why can't we keep ours secret for now?" Rachel leans into Quinn.

"But why?" Victoria asks, her eyes bouncing between the two women standing in front of her.

There's a story behind every decision, every choice. Quinn and Rachel had theirs, and neither of them felt a pull to confide their reasoning now. It wasn't Victoria's business to know why they carried on their lives without publicly acknowledging their relationship. Even if they did explain, they both doubted Victoria would really understand. It was hard to get people to understand the secrets Rachel and Quinn shared and why exactly they had them at all.

"This is ours," Rachel halfheartedly explains, and then her attention turns back to Quinn. "Are you ready?"

"Always," Quinn replies.

"Thank you for having us," Rachel tells Victoria. "We'll hopefully see you in the future." She grabs hold of Quinn's hand and then pulls the taller woman out of the door with her.

They make their way out of the studio and then down to the street. Quinn pulled her coat closer to her body. She didn't hate New York, she reminded herself. She just hated visiting.

JUST VISITING

Quinn was in New York because she needed to escape Los Angeles. She had just finished filming yet another film in which she played a cheerleader, and consequently she was feeling a little void of culture. If her friend Emilie hadn't offered a reprieve then Quinn was convinced she would have given up being an actor altogether. She was tired of playing the same part in every film she was hired to do. Yes, she physically fit the profile of the bitchy cheerleader but that was a role she already played out in her youth and didn't like being destined to repeat. She was trying to propel her life forward. Though, she did enjoy getting occasional emails detailing the flaws in her performances from one internationally ranked Cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester.

Quinn always replied to every email her former cheerleading coach sent to her, realizing that Sue was telling her how proud she was of Quinn in her own very special little way. Quinn couldn't help but wonder what her coach would say about the film she had just finished filming. It was a little different than the rest, but still typecast her in the role, but at least this time she was able to be a superhero, Supergirl to be exact. It was set to release next summer as one of the big blockbusters backed by hundreds of millions of studios' dollars.

"You're late," Emilie said as Quinn entered backstage.

Quinn smiled. "Am I ever on time?"

"Punctuality is important." Quinn turned towards the familiar voice, having a feeling that the world shrunk ten sizes that day, and plopped her into the very place she needed to be at the exact time she needed to be there.

"Rachel Berry!" She shrieked surprised, and before she could control herself, she was moving across the room and wrapping Rachel up in a firm embrace. "It's been forever."

"You two know each other?" Emilie asked surprised.

Quinn pulled out of the embrace, embarrassed that Rachel's familiar presence flooded her mind with happy emotions she hadn't expected to come. "We went to high school together," Rachel replied, making sure to further distance herself from Quinn. "We weren't friends."

Emilie looked at the two disbelievingly.

"We weren't," Quinn agreed. "I terrorized Rachel for the better part of two years."

"You say that as if you're proud of your past behavior," Rachel pointed out with a raised brow.

"I've apologized for it," Quinn defended herself. "Can't we have our bygones?"

Rachel huffed dramatically. "Fine. How have you been, Quinn? I hear you've recently finished filming what promises to be yet another subpar movie?"

"Rachel," Emilie stepped in. "Be nice."

Quinn rested her hands on her hips. "And I hear you're still in that little Broadway production about witches or something."

"Quinn," Emilie moved to stand between them.

Rachel stepped around Emilie. "Have you anything else to say for yourself, Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn shook her head in slight disbelief. "It's really good to see you again, Rachel. It's like seeing the best parts of home again without actually having to be tainted with Lima."

Rachel finally smiled and took another step closer to Quinn. "You're impossible, Quinn." She rolled her eyes and then the two women were hugging again while Emilie looked on completely confused.

When they pulled apart, Rachel shrugged and offered Emilie a brief explanation of, "This is how our relationship works."

They had never quite managed to be friends in high school, but they hadn't remained adversarial either. They had found some type of peace agreement in their adolescence and hadn't broken the treaty. They had in fact staunchly adhered to it despite any consequence that arose from such an unbalanced union between the wonderful Quin Fabray and the freak Rachel Berry.

"You're both impossible." Emilie stepped away from them now that she was sure they weren't going to fight out past hurts that took place under the lovely guise of teenage rage. "Go take your seats up front. I'm supposed to be starting soon."

Rachel nodded, grabbed Quinn's arm and then guided them to the front. They sat together in a dark corner, hunched over a small table. Rachel started talking first, mostly about the shows she had been in and the one she was currently helping to produce. Quinn listened, knowing it wouldn't be her turn to speak for a while.

Eventually, the concert started and they both intently listened to Emilie's bluesy voice filter throughout the bar. They quietly sang along to the songs they knew and swayed with the crowd when people began dancing.

"Okay, so I really have a treat for all of you tonight," Emilie told the crowd as her last song finished. "I invited two of my friends here tonight, you might have heard of them."

Quinn and Rachel looked at each other, each knowing what to expect from their mutual friend.

Emilie pointed to the two in the crowd, "Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray everybody!" The crowd applauded. "Do you think we could talk them into coming up here to sing one more song?"

Rachel beamed at the attention of course, and made her way to the stage with Quinn's hand firmly ensconced in her own. She waved to the throng of people surrounding them and then bumped shoulders with Quinn.

Quinn sighed, but waved to the crowd as well. Emilie started playing the beginnings of a song on her guitar and on cue Rachel began singing the lead. Quinn shook her head, but started singing along anyway. Their hands remained joined as one song turned into another and then another.

The crowd had their phones held up high as they took photos and video footage of the two celebrities' concert. They continued singing and Emilie graciously demoted herself to lead guitarist without any vocals attached. She let Quinn and Rachel have the spotlight seeing the same thing that everyone else in the crowd realized: Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry were meant to make beautiful music together.

The night wore on and eventually had to end. Emilie thanked everyone for coming out and even publicly forgave Quinn and Rachel for stealing away her show. They laughed about it, and Quinn and Rachel left the stage. They made their way through the crowd, having promised to meet up with Emilie later.

Rachel, once again, held onto to Quinn's hand as she guided her former classmate through wonderful New York. They stopped at an all-night vegan restaurant Rachel had stumbled upon during her first year in college. They then walked along Broadway and even managed to get into the theatre Rachel had been performing in. They went to every spot Rachel could think of and every spot Quinn had wondered about.

Before either of them had realized, three days had gone by, and the bubble they lived in had burst. Quinn needed to return to Los Angeles and Rachel needed to get back to work.

Rachel went with Quinn to the airport. They held hands in the taxi and hugged ferociously when it was time for Quinn to step away.

"I'm glad I came," Quinn confessed as her arms stayed wrapped around Rachel's body. "I think I needed this."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed as she settled into the crook of Quinn's neck.

"God," Quinn groaned. "I hate New York."

Rachel slowly pulled away. "Why?" She asked genuinely confused. She had thought Quinn had a wonderful time roaming the city with her.

"I didn't hate it until now, until this very moment." Quinn pulled further away from Rachel, forcing her eyes to remain untainted by tears.

Rachel's gaze filled with understanding. "I'm flattered. I would have never thought us sharing a moment like this would ever be a possibility for us. I had imagined our reunion would be in Lima with the rest of our former classmates who would be trying to decide which one of us to envy more."

Quinn chuckled. "You're something else, Berry."

"Nevertheless," Rachel continued, "I'm glad we were afforded this opportunity. I fear that if our reunion had happened in Lima then we would have relapsed into the caricatures we created in our adolescence."

Quinn raised a brow. "I don't know if they were complete caricatures," she pointed out. "You don't seem to be completely out of character."

Rachel's eyes sparkled. "Are you implying I'm the same girl you knew in high school?"

"And what if I am?" Quinn challenged.

Rachel didn't verbally reply. Instead, she closed the gap they had allowed to develop between them and gently pressed her lips against Quinn's. They languidly kissed, each choosing not to rush a moment that was already speeding by them too quickly.

"I hate New York," Quinn whispered as their lips separated.

Rachel place a kiss on Quinn's cheek and then said, "You don't hate New York; you just hate visiting."

"Touché," Quinn conceded. "So when are you coming to Los Angeles?"

Rachel smiled, obviously glad at the offer Quinn was extending. "Are you suggesting we set up another rendezvous where we can each act completely out of character?"

"Yes," Quinn easily replied. "You're exactly what I want." For anyone else the confession might have been too much too soon, but neither woman could bring themselves to start suddenly feeling uncomfortable. They had gotten past uncomfortable when they were in high school and had decided to continue playing the roles their Lima lives had handed out to them.

But, they had escaped Lima and everything seemed to be just right now. They had grown up and grown past the things that were so idiotically important to them when they were sixteen. Of course they were out of character now, Quinn thought it would be more than pathetic if she spoke the same, acted the same, and was the same girl that had been locked away in Lima, Ohio fearing the lifelong sentence of mediocrity.

"I could get there in a couple of weeks," Rachel offered. "I'll take time away." It was a huge concession, Quinn realized, but she had come to suddenly expect this sort of thing from Rachel now.

Quinn leaned over and pressed soft lips to Rachel's forehead. "Good," she whispered as she pulled away. "I'll see you in two weeks." She smiled and looked into Rachel's watery brown eyes. "But right now, I hate New York more than anything."

They pulled apart then, splitting not only their physical distance but an emotion one as well, because realistically Rachel did live in New York and Quinn lived in Los Angeles. Rachel had been nominated for a Tony Award for her theatre debut and Hasboro was making little figurines of Quinn as Supergirl. There was a very real possibility that this would be it for them. There was nothing tying them together other than a few days spent in each other's company and a past full of spotty acquaintanceship.

"I'll see you in two weeks," Rachel confirmed, deciding to not let her doubts kill their last moments. "And remember, you just hate visiting."

Their lips touched once again, but then it was all over and Rachel was left alone in the cab and Quinn was running off to catch her flight.


	2. Chapter 2

PROMISES (Present)

She looks down at her wineglass mournful that it is already empty. She glances around, seeking out someone in a bow tie and cummerbund that can offer her another alcoholic beverage. There is no savoir in sight. She really is going to be forced to suffer through the surprising amount of incompetence surrounding her without the clichéd buffer of alcohol.

It's award season so that means she's out campaigning for the votes of her peers, or at least being generally flattering and charming to those who can give her a boost when it comes time to call out the name printed out on a little card stuffed inside of a little envelope. She briefly thinks of other things she can be doing with her time that would be more productive, but of course she won't actually choose to do anything else because, damn it, she wants to win. She wants her work to be validated and recognized by getting a shiny little statue with her name on it.

"So what will you do now that you're no longer going to continue in the show?" The man standing across from her asks, engaging her in an ongoing conversation she had lost interest in almost a full ten minutes prior. Yet, he insists on continuing to talk to her because he lacks all social skills necessary to recognize he is boring her to death.

"While it's nearly impossible for me to ever consider leaving theatre, I am currently in talks about several guest appearances on television." Honestly, her latest tour has exhausted her and she's looking for a break. She's tired of the demanding schedule of theatre and she wants to extend her talents elsewhere, and maybe even get a chance to stay in a single place for longer than a couple of days.

"Well," the man laughs, "I never thought I'd hear you say you're leaving the stage."

"Not leaving," she hastens to correct, "I am simply taking a leave to explore other mediums. I've been doing theatre since I was teenager."

"Why television and not movies?" The man blithely asks. "Musicals are really remerging on the big screen. Look at the success that wretched little actress Quinn Fabray has had with her butchered voice belting out Korn lyrics."

"Excuse me?" She asks incredulously. "Are you implying that the accolades Quinn Fabray has earned for her performance is somehow undeserved?"

The man smirks. "Come now, Rachel, you don't honestly believe Quinn deserves her Oscar nomination, do you? She's a pretty face that got lucky. She's not like us," he continues to dig his grave. "She has no real talent. She's Supergirl for Christ's sake."

She will be the first to admit that she might have glamorized a life in the theatre a bit as a child. She had always expected it would be hard work, and had been prepared for some of the harsh lessons she might learn during her tenure in the business, but she hadn't quite gotten used to how petty some of her peers were. Some of them were stuck in moderate success and were quick to put down anyone who achieved more than they had. They hid behind falsehoods about how they were just truer to their art and therefore constantly denied access to greater, worldwide exposure.

Briefly, she considers mauling Clint in the middle of this horrid little party, but she ultimately decides against it, not because she thinks the man undeserving but because she is against physical violence. She once again looks down at her empty glass, and is pleasantly surprised when a hand appears offering her a replacement.

"Did I miss something terribly interesting?" A woman steps up to her side, staring at Clint with a raised brow clearly implying she's heard every one of his insults.

"Quinn Fabray," the man does his best to hide his shame, "I didn't know you'd be coming tonight."

"For a talentless hack," Rachel smiles up at Quinn, "you sure do get invited to a lot of parties."

Clint laughs uncomfortably, knowing Rachel's joke will only be the beginning of her revenge. "You two know each other?" He asks. He had never actually considered that he'd ever get the chance to meet Quinn Fabray. Although, he has of course heard the rumors that Quinn has tendency to randomly appear at New York parties that center on the arts. It is a well-known fact that she is a great supporter of theatre. It is even a greater known fact that she is too magnanimous to defend herself against a man such as Clint. Some might even argue that she is too proud to enter into a debate pertaining to her skills as an actress.

Rachel, however, is not. "We're both from Lima, Ohio," she explains never willing to deny the history she shares with the woman standing next her. "Quinn gave one of the best vocal performances this year, and it is sad that an experienced performer such as you cannot recognize that simple fact. Maybe you should consider retirement if you are so inept at spotting obvious talent."

"Rachel," Quinn softly says, "it's fine." She turns to Clint. "I never have performed theatre at your level. Frankly, I'm glad to hide in front of a camera far away from live performances. I'll gladly collect my sixty-five million dollars doing Supergirl II instead of having to prove my talent on stage."

"Yes, well," Clint clears his throat. "I think I see a friend over there. If you'll both excuse me."

They both laugh as he scurries away. Once he's safely hiding behind another group actors they turn back to each other. They stand staring at one another for a few moments before they turn and walk away from the crowd. They find a secluded corner and then collapse into each other. "I didn't know you were coming tonight," Rachel admits between kisses.

"Neither did I." Quinn rests her hands on Rachel's waist. "I got a last minute break from filming." New York was apparently the new Metropolis and Quinn had been shooting on location for the last month. She keeps a grueling schedule, but at least she's in New York this time for an extended visit.

"You should have stayed away," Rachel admonishes as Quinn pulls their bodies closer together. "How do you expect me to concentrate on swaying the votes in my favor now?"

Quinn leans forward. "I don't," she whispers into Rachel's ear and then places kisses down her lover's neck. "Come home with me."

It's a hard offer to refuse, so Rachel doesn't. She loves receiving awards, but she loves Quinn more. "Let's go."

She links her arm with Quinn's and together they push through the crowd towards the nearest exit. She realizes that things weren't always this easy between them. Well, their physical relationship has always been this easy. Passion so often overtook their senses that they hadn't really ever had issue with making love; it has always been the being in love part that trips them up.

In the beginning neither of them had really known when to give in and when to hold back. They were both so used to fighting to keep their individuality that they didn't quite recognize when they were unnecessarily overshadowing each other. Their careers had always been paramount no matter what. Their ground rules had been shaky and still weren't perfect, but, Rachel smiles at her wife, things were better.

"You're staring at me," Quinn points out as she settles into the car the studio has provided her with.

"I can't help it." Rachel reaches out and places her hand on Quinn's muscular thigh. Her wife's physique has necessarily changed for the production of Supergirl II. Quinn's producers have hired a personal trainer for their star and have put her on a strict diet so that she can be properly fit for her iconic role. Rachel has grown accustomed to the changes, just like Quinn has grown accustomed to Rachel's blond highlights, and unnecessary weight loss for the role Rachel had taken as a methamphetamine addict in an off Broadway play.

"Okay," Quinn nonchalantly replies. "So, you've decided to come to California."

Rachel loves how Quinn doesn't even need to ask what thoughts are going through her head. She loves that Quinn just knows. "Take me to the Oscars with you," she suggests.

"You promise to behave yourself if I don't win?" Quinn jokingly asks.

"No," Rachel rejoins. "The only reason you wouldn't win is because of people like Clint, who don't see how much effort you put into everything that you do. Just because you make it look easy doesn't meant that it is easy."

"Maybe," Quinn draws out the word. "But I much rather think that Meryl Streep actually deserves to be nominated, too."

Rachel's hand creeps further up Quinn's thigh. "You're going to win," she whispers. "I have a sixth sense about these sorts of things."

Quinn's melodic laugh travels thoughtlessly between them. She covers Rachel's hand with her own. They stare at each other, basking in the rare chance they have to be in the same place at the same time without other matters needing their attention. This was so rare. It always has been. Yet, oddly, it's these types of moments that had propelled them to get married in the first place.

MOVIES LOVE A SCREEN (PAST)

Promises had been made, but just as quickly broken. Two weeks turned into three, three weeks into four, four into six, and six into eight. It hadn't been intentional; it had been circumstance that kept Rachel far away from her promised visit. Her new show was in production and since she was a co-producer it simply hadn't been possible for her to leave. She couldn't rely on everything to be made perfect in her absence, and of course Quinn had understood.

Of course, they both also understood that a promised rendezvous wasn't quite as important to them as carrying on with their familiar lives. It was much easier to look upon their time in New York as a completely random, wonderfully, incongruent phenomenon than a fatalistic dive into bewildering unfamiliar territory. Once Rachel's plane landed into LAX, they both knew that thing that occurred between them in New York would bleed over into this trip.

But even after two months apart, curiosity drove Rachel to seek out what she would find at the end of her Yellow Brick Road, and Quinn was too stubborn to even consider shying away from this new adventure. So, as Quinn picked Rachel up from the airport and they stood looking at each other, they instinctually knew that the New York wasn't a fluke; it wasn't at all random. But, they also knew that hadn't necessarily been given a guarantee either.

"You look good, Rachel," Quinn softly admitted.

"I know," Rachel joked, hoping to ease the tension building between them by saying something classically aligned with her personality. "I'm in LA. I can't risk not looking my best when there is opportunity around every corner. Who knows?" She smirks. "I might even run into a famous actress."

"And why would she pay attention to you?" Quinn played along. Easily slipping into the role she had so often played opposite of Rachel Berry during their youth.

"Quinn," Rachel admonished, "I radiate star power."

"Movies only love the screen, Berry, they don't care anything about the stars that play in them." It was a comment Quinn made a little too bitterly.

"Take me home," Rachel let the comment slide. She had hardly spoken to Quinn and knew that entering into such serious conversation so early on could potentially ruin what time they had together. It would be hard for them to rebuild their oasis if they anchored onto the lives that they had allowed to keep them apart.

"Okay," Quinn agreed thankful that her thoughtless comment didn't end things before they had even begun. She drove them to her home and when they arrived she gave Rachel a quick tour of her home. Rachel's bags ended up in Quinn's bedroom with neither of them questioning whether or not they were assuming too much too soon.

They could not question, could not assume; it was the only way they could let themselves be drawn into spending any time together at all. That night, Quinn cooked Rachel dinner and once the meal had been finished they sat in Quinn's living room sharing wine and telling stories. They didn't talk about their past, and completely avoided mentioning anything about the future. They talked about their respective work. Rachel spoke for two hours alone about the musical she was helping produce that she was convinced would change musical theatre forever.

Quinn listened and added in an encouraging word or thoughtful comment throughout. They stayed up all night, not bothering to take into account that a world existed outside of the four walls that separated them from the realities that dealt with on a daily basis. As far as reunions went, it had been sort of perfect.

They carried on much like they had in New York. Quinn led Rachel through Los Angeles showing her all the things worth seeing and even some of the things worth avoiding at all costs. They crashed Hollywood parties and went to the clubs that overflowed with entertainment news fiends. When Rachel was asked why she was out with Quinn Fabray, she responded truthfully: they were friends and she was visiting.

The news wasn't sensational enough so it was mostly ignored. One entertainment blog had mentioned it and had posted a picture of them getting into Quinn's car, but since neither of them had been falling down drunk or under any other influences, they were mostly ignored. Besides, the general public really didn't know who Rachel Berry was although most probably had heard her voice, and Quinn Fabray was still too often described as' that chick that was in that one cheerleading movie'.

There were a lot of stars in Hollywood and neither of them had quite made the top of the list yet. They were mostly free to do what they wished unhindered. They carried on carefree and unfettered by what it all would mean if the world found out that Rachel Berry was sharing Quinn Fabray's bed. Though, at the time when they said they slept together it was not a euphemism for sex. They had only slept…well made out and slept.

No matter how carefree they had been, there were still bits of sanity holding them back and warning them that once that bridge had been crossed, once they made love, then there would be consequence for their actions and questions that would need answering. Neither of them were the type to just fuck and run.

It was on Rachel's last night in town, that they finally bothered to even talk about sex. They were lying in Quinn's bed, wrapped around each other, and were determined to not sleep away the last several hours they had together.

"Do you think we should give this another try?" Rachel asked uncertainly, not quite able to keep at bay her innate need to know what to expect after her plane took off so that she could be properly prepared for her future.

"That depends," Quinn pushed her body further into Rachel's, "what is it we're trying to do?" Of course she knew the answer to her own question. She hardly ever asked questions she didn't already know the answers to. Life was…more controlled that way.

Rachel turned her head so she could better look into Quinn's eyes. "I refuse to carry on this conversation with you if you're going to insist on being intentionally obtuse."

"Then refuse," Quinn challenged. "Though, I doubt you'll be able to."

Rachel's eyes widened then narrowed. She hated that Quinn knew her so well. "Your obsessive need to be in control isn't flattering."

"It's not about control," Quinn confessed. "It's about fear."

It was a sentiment Rachel understood. "I feel the same way, Quinn. I know that once I walk away there's a chance that we won't be able to do this for a third time." They had been incredibly lucky twice already and neither thought themselves privileged enough to have this thing happen between them again.

Quinn closed her eyes, tearing away from the connection that had kept them under a spell for the last few days. She moved to unwrap her body from around Rachel's but Rachel wouldn't let her pull away. Quinn kept her eyes closed, not even opening them when she felt Rachel's lips pressing against her own.

"Do you really want to do this?" Quinn asked, knowing that if they continued that it could very well be their last farewell.

"No," Rachel honestly replied. "I don't think either of us would remember it fondly." It'd be tainted by the bitter taste of what might have been. "We'll abstain," she decided.

"Abstain?" Quinn finally opened her eyes, her thoughts drifted back to high school when she was head of the Celibacy Club and Rachel had crashed a meeting and spoke up against the club's hypocrisy. She had proclaimed that celibacy didn't work and that sexual desire wasn't something that either of the sexes controlled. Rachel had seen no point in squelching desire. She in fact had defied any notion that abstaining was ever an option.

Rachel rolled her eyes, her thoughts having drifted to the same point in time Quinn's had gone back to. "Yes, abstain."

Quinn smirked. "You do understand what that word means, right?"

"Somewhere inside of you there is a mature adult; I just know it." Rachel sarcastically replied.

"There might be," Quinn acquiesced, "but she much rather stay hidden away."

"You're impossible Quinn Fabray." Rachel sighed, and let the conversation fade into its conclusion. They would not be making love. It would hurt too much.

Quinn leaned back into Rachel. She glided her lips across Rachel's face and then settled onto Rachel's breast. She had felt tempted to continue on, but that mature adult hiding inside of her knew that it had been best she stop.

Exhausted, but still unwilling to sleep, they stayed wrapped around each other through the night and when dawn came Rachel began to pack her bags. She had an afternoon flight that she couldn't have missed. There was work obligations to get back to. There was a life built up and waiting for her to return to it…alone.

When the time came, Quinn and Rachel sat inside of Quinn's car. Quinn had the keys in the ignition and she was seconds away from starting up the engine when the craziest, most brilliant idea she had ever had filtered in through her general melancholy. She didn't voice her idea, because she knew Rachel would talk her out of it.

Quinn started up her car and then pulled out of her parking space. She smiled at Rachel and drove towards their destination. They hadn't gotten further than a mile before Rachel ran a noticeably suspicious gaze across Quinn's figure. "What are you doing?" She asked.

"Doing?" Quinn kept her eyes on the road. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Since your answer came in the form of repeating my original question, I'll assume you are in fact up to something." Rachel folded her arms across her chest. "I must insist that now is certainly not the time to deviate from our schedule. The plane will not wait for me."

"There are other flights," Quinn casually rebutted.

Rachel's eyes didn't leave Quinn. She studied the other woman, and tried to decipher what the next hour of her life might bring. "Fine," she gave into trust.

Quinn felt giddy. She smiled at her lover whom she had not yet made love to and then turned her attention back to driving. She sped through the streets until she had guided them to the nearest courthouse. She quickly parked and then grabbed onto Rachel's hand. "So, here's the thing," her words rushed out of her one stumbling atop the other. "After you leave there's nothing keeping us together. You live in New York and I live here. But, Rachel, you and I have something in common: we honor our commitmenst. We push through even if giving up were the better choice."

"Okay," Rachel drew out the word, her body was shaking. She knew Quinn, had known her for years; so she knew what it was Quinn had suddenly planned for them.

"Yes, okay," Quinn nodded. "So we should get married."

Married? So, yes Rachel had been expecting Quinn's proposal but she hadn't really been expecting it. It came sort of like when she had expected to get a cup full of frozen corn syrup thrown at her face when she was in high school. She had always prepared for the cold sweet smelling ice to make contact with her skin, but it had never not been cold. Preparation didn't fend off the chill, it had only fooled her body into thinking it was ready.

"You're not saying anything," Quinn pointed out as her nerves grew too big for her to push down. "Why are you not saying anything? You never not say anything."

"You do realize this is insane?" Rachel finally commented. "And…well it seems a bit too dramatic, even for me."

"I'm not going to talk you into this, Rachel," Quinn softly replied. "We do this and make a promise to see this through to the end or," she shrugged, "we don't and maybe we'll both be brave enough to see each other again."

"Are you implying that getting married would be the cowardly thing for us to do?" Rachel's heart was beating fast. She didn't know whether to take any of this seriously or not.

Quinn didn't hesitate to answer, "Yes, it would be."

Rachel couldn't argue. Marriage was the most spineless thing either one of them could have come up with. It was a blatant admittance that they didn't believe in a future together without something tangible tying them together. Marriage would make them keep their promises. "Then let's get married Quinn Fabray."

Quinn grinned madly, happy that she had not underestimated Rachel's insanity. They were equally crazy to base a marriage off of something so absurd. "Let's get married Rachel Berry."

They exited Quinn's car and then walked into the courthouse. They registered their names, got their papers, suddenly found themselves in front of a Justice of the Peace and were declared married. It was odd to both of them how something so profound was ultimately so easy.

When they walked out of the courthouse and got back into Quinn's car, Rachel had already booked the next flight to New York. Quinn drove her wife to the airport, and this time as they said their goodbyes Quinn offered to be in New York in two weeks. It was a promise she made that she wouldn't be able to push back because it was a promise she made to her wife, and Quinn Fabray would never break a promise to her wife. That simple piece of paper she had signed nearly an hour ago wouldn't let her.


	3. Chapter 3

WHEN THE WORLD ENDS

She hates fundraisers because she hates performing in them. Really, she hates having to do anything live because she hates that her mistakes can't be erased and replaced with misleading perfection. Doing live television means that everyone can see her flaws and judge her incessantly for them. But, she is not so coldhearted to refuse doing a good deed out of her own dislike of being seen as imperfect.

So when she's asked to cohost a live primetime special to benefit those unfortunate enough to have suffered through a devastating natural disaster, she accepts. Her worldwide popularity gives strength to her name, and that in turn gives strength to whatever charity of the day she throws her support behind. Tonight, she's stepping out encouraging people across the country to give money towards funding relief efforts in Pakistan. She appears on stage next to her cohost and together they introduce segments previously recorded across the world.

She watches each segment intently, clearly recalling each camp she had visited and each person she had talked to in preparation for the night's events. The screen flashes to her recent encounters and she feels her eyes beginning to tear up. This is another reason why she hates fundraisers. She hates how emotional they make her.

The camera turns back to her, and she forces down her tears so that she can smile and walk around the stage to interview a few of the celebrities that have come out to support the cause. They all tell her how lovely it is to be there and how serious they think the situation is. She briefly wonders if anyone would dare say on live television that tens of thousands of people dying isn't a serious issue.

The interviews end and she releases the reigns to another host. She moves to the last row of phones and then takes a seat in a vacant chair thankful for the break. She runs her hand through her long hair and sighs.

"Don't tell me you're tired already, Fabray," Isaias, one of the celebrity volunteers calls out to her. "You've still got another hour left, Supergirl."

Her eyes glide over to him. They were in a movie together years ago. She played a cheerleader and he played a football player. Their characters had been madly in love. "I didn't even know you were here," she tells him.

He shrugs. "It was a last minute thing," he explains. "I thought maybe I'd get a chance to hang out with you afterwards."

"Really?" She asks. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" His blue eyes widen with faux innocence. "Can't we just hang out?"

She hasn't seen him in months, perhaps even a year. His career languishes in teen flicks and she knows he's trying to break free. "Why?" She asks him again trusting that he somehow wants to use her success to increase his own.

He doesn't get a chance to validate her theory, because one of the crew members is signaling for her to take center stage once again. She stands up and then walks to her designated place. The cameras turn to her and she's introducing the next musical performance for the night.

"Please welcome Rachel Berry performing her Broadway hit 'All Alone'," she stops reading from the prompter and turns to the stage so that she can watch the performance.

Rachel has already walked to her mark. She's standing waiting for her cue. She taps her hand against her jean clad thigh as the music starts up and within moments she's performing her rendition of a song that has become a household staple. The phones continue to ring silently in the background, but Rachel's voice captivates everyone. Several calls are left unanswered.

When the song is over, Quinn walks over to Rachel and wraps a casual arm around her waist. They kiss each other on the cheek and Quinn compliments the performance. Together, they turn back to the camera and Quinn continues to announce the next performance. The camera moves away from them and their microphones are temporarily turned off.

"I'm glad you made it," Quinn says as she pulls Rachel closer to her.

"You asked me to," Rachel replies as if that explains everything.

"Yeah," Quinn sighs. "You saved my ass, Berry. We weren't expecting a last minute cancelation."

"I have to fly back to New York tonight." Rachel leans her head against Quinn's shoulder. "Filming begins in the morning." She has just signed on to do a three episode arc on a crime show drama with the possibility to make it a permanent gig if the episodes garner enough attention.

"I could follow you back," Quinn offers. "I'll be your personal assistant."

Rachel laughs softly. "I have a personal assistant."

Quinn smirks. "Then, I'll be your personal, personal assistant."

Rachel rolls her eyes and pushes Quinn away from her. "I'm leaving tonight," she reiterates knowing that if she doesn't start building her defenses then Quinn will have her locked away and naked in a bed as soon as possible.

Quinn leans further into Rachel and bends down to whisper into the other woman's ear, "There are other flights."

Rachel pushes Quinn away again just as the camera turns back to them and a few million viewers are shown their interaction. They are both smiling and neither is fazed when they realize their antics have been caught on camera. Quinn focuses her attention back on the teleprompter and reads off whatever it is written.

The camera moves again, and all attention focuses elsewhere. Quinn is given some quick directions and she's forced to move away from Rachel so that she can fulfill her obligations as cohost. The night moves along and finally all the celebrities are brought away from the phones. They gather around to sing one final song. Rachel takes place next to Quinn and within minutes the lights are turned up and the fundraiser is over.

Quinn turns back to Rachel at the first opportunity. "So you are staying the night, yes?"

Rachel shakes her head. "I don't remember saying that."

Quinn shrugs. "Well, I don't remember hearing it," she playfully admits, "but that doesn't mean it isn't true."

"What isn't true?" Isaias asks stomping all over their private conversation.

"Nothing," Quinn answers. "Is there something you needed?"

"I want to take you out," he answers her. "The both of you," he hastily includes Rachel in his plans. "We did a wonderful thing tonight."

Quinn snorts. "You're full of shit, Isaias."

Isaias raises his left hand to cover his heart. "You wound me, Quinn Fabray."

"I don't believe we've met," Rachel cuts in, before Quinn can utter another curse. She offers her hand to the handsome man standing in front of her. "I'm Rachel Berry."

He offers what he hopes is a charming smile. "It's nice to meet you Rachel Berry. I'm Isaias Harper." He takes a hold of her hand. "I've been a fan of yours for years."

Rachel smiles pleasantly enough as she pulls her hand away from his. "Thank you."

His smile stays firmly planted. "Please give me the distinct honor of taking you out tonight."

"I have a plane to catch," Rachel steps towards Quinn, "and she's my ride."

"You two are friends?" He asks, drawing out an already deceased conversation.

"You are an idiot," Quinn mutters.

"Your words say no, but your eyes say yes," he continues more out of good humor now than from hope that he will be able to talk Quinn into going anywhere with him. "Remember, we've had intimate relations."

Rachel's eyes widen and Quinn's narrow. Rachel looks to her wife. "I'll leave you to deal with this," she says and then moves away.

"She's hot stuff, Supergirl," Isaias says as he watches Rachel's ass as she walks away. "I hear she's still single."

Quinn says nothing.

"So," Isaias turns his attention back to Quinn. "Since I doubt you're going to hook me up with your friend, I still would like to beg you to meet up with me."

Quinn's hands go to her hips. "Why?"

"Honestly?" Isaias scratches at the back of his neck. "Dream Massacre is going to win you an Oscar, and I want to ride on your coattails."

"Elaborate," Quinn demands.

Isaias's hand drops to his side. "Me and a couple of friends are trying to get a movie made, and we want you to star in it." His eyes travel over to where Rachel is waiting. "If you can manage, I think we've got a part for her, too."

Quinn's eyes follow Isaias's. Her eyes roam over her wife's body, appreciating every curve and line. "I'm not her manager. Anything you want her involved in, you have to talk to her herself."

"I'll send you the script," Isaias turns back to Quinn. "I may be an ass, but this is a good movie, Quinn."

She arches an eyebrow. "And what part will you play?"

Isaias chuckles. "None. I'm done being in front of the camera. I'm not that great at it," he self-deprecatingly admits.

She's surprised by his sudden humility. "We'll take a look at it," she offers. "But I really need to get her to an airport."

"Sure thing, Supergirl," he steps away from her.

She walks to Rachel and grabs onto the other woman's hand as she leads them out of the studio to get Rachel to her flight on time. Of course, she wishes Rachel could stay, but she's not going to ask Rachel to stick around when her wife has already made other commitments.

"I'm still mad at you for going to Pakistan," Rachel eventually admits after ten very long minutes of silence in Quinn's car.

"I know." Quinn reaches out and grabs onto Rachel's hand.

Rachel allows the contact, but turns to gaze out the window. "I'm not going to ask you if the trip was worth it, because I already know that it was." She uses her free hand to brush her hair out of her face. "But I'm still angry."

"I know." Quinn has no defense for her past actions. She had left without regard to how Rachel would feel. She had just taken off to help save some people half way across the world because someone had asked her to. She had called Rachel en route and dealt with Rachel's ire for the better part of two hours. But, when Rachel had finished yelling, she had told Quinn to be safe and to keep in contact because she'd kill Quinn herself if anything bad happened.

Quinn had kept in touch as much as possible, and upon her return Rachel had simply told her that she was glad Quinn had returned safely, and then had hung up. They hadn't spoken since, and that was almost a week ago. Quinn hadn't even been sure that Rachel would come out to perform in the fundraiser. She had just sent out a text message and had hoped for the best.

Rachel nods stiffly. "Okay." Her gaze leaves the window and her eyes turn to Quinn. "Please, pull the car over."

Quinn doesn't question Rachel's request. She takes the nearest exit off of the freeway and then pulls into a gas station and parks. Quinn looks down at their joined hands. "I'm sorry."

Rachel laughs humorlessly. "No you're not," she argues, "because if you were then you wouldn't have done it in the first place."

Quinn opens her mouth to reply, but Rachel holds up their linked hands to stop her. "Don't," Rachel warns. Her eyes roam over Quinn's body and then rest on the cross Quinn has worn around her neck since high school. "Don't," she says again less harshly this time. "Supergirl," she chuckles.

Quinn bows her head and stares down at her lap. "Everyone has been calling me that a lot lately."

"Well, you did fly across the world to help pull children out from the rubble," Rachel's eyes lift so that she can look at Quinn's troubled features.

"I took a plane," Quinn keeps her eyes on her lap. "It was…" She sighs. "I'm not a hero." Her body begins to shake, her throat tightens and she holds tighter onto Rachel's hand. "There were so many people, Rachel, we couldn't help."

Rachel eliminates the space between them. She releases Quinn's hand so that she can wrap her arms around her wife. "I know, Baby," she murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not Supergirl," Quinn brokenly confesses into Rachel's shoulder. "I'm not."

Rachel lets Quinn cry. She doesn't offer any other words, because nothing she says will be enough, and she feels guilty for not coming to Quinn sooner, but she had just been so angry…so frightened. She had never prepared herself to lose Quinn due to external circumstance. She had always just believed that if Quinn left her, then it would have been intentional.

"I love you, Quinn Fabray," Rachel whispers.

Quinn tightens the hold she has on Rachel. She hadn't really been expecting this moment. She hadn't even realized she had bottled up so much emotion that needed release, but she should have at least thought it a possibility when she saw Rachel on stage and felt a painful tightening in her chest. Rachel has always been especially talented at making Quinn emote. It has been that way ever since they were kids. Of course, when they were kids, the emotion had been more violent but it hadn't been any less intense.

"Thank you," Quinn replies through her waning tears. She feels better, though she hadn't known before that she was feeling badly. She looks at the clock on her dashboard. "We still need to get you to the airport."

Rachel pulls back and then wipes away Quinn's remaining tears. "There are other flights."

NOT NEW YORK, NOT LOS ANGELES

"I need to catch the next flight to Ohio," she told the clerk at the counter. "First class, preferably."

The man stared at her for a moment before blinking a couple of times and then looked down to the computer screen in front of him. "We have a connecting flight to Dayton that leaves in an hour," he states.

"It'll get me close enough, so please hurry and book my ticket." She looked around her, briefly wondering who in the crowd might recognize her.

"Will you need return itinerary?" The man asked as he typed away on his keyboard.

Quinn waved off the offer. "I'll deal with that later."

"Okay, well I'll need some…"

"Here," Quinn interrupted him. She handed over her ID and a credit card.

"Thank you, Ms. Fabray." He continued typing. A few moments later, her ticket is printed and she's sprinted towards security happy that she's carrying nothing but a duffel bag. She wasn't in the mood to deal with long security checks in which she's chosen for random screening.

She slowly meandered to the gate and then takes a seat waiting for her flight to board. She pulled out her phone and before thinking better of it typed out a quick text message and then sent it off. Within moments her phone vibrates signaling an incoming call.

"Hello?" She answered.

"What do you mean you're not coming?" Rachel's voice carried over the phone. "I thought we weren't doing this, this time."

"Shove off it, Berry," Quinn replied irritated. "I just can't make it, okay."

"No, Quinn," Rachel's irritation was very clear, "not okay. We haven't been married long enough for you to already start breaking your promises."

"Rachel," Quinn leaned further back in her chair, "I'm going to Lima."

There's extended silence before Rachel inevitably asked, "Why?"

"My fucking father had a fucking heart attack." Quinn confessed. "I'll fly to New York once I leave Lima."

"Your father…" Rachel sounded uncertain. "Is he okay?"

"I've been told he's alive." Quinn closed her eyes.

"D-do you want…" Rachel's words trailed off.

"No," Quinn didn't need Rachel to complete her sentence. "It'll be fine. I know you've got your shows so don't worry about it."

Quinn looked around, and noticed that all of her fellow passengers were moving to begin boarding. "I've got to go. I'll call in a couple of days and let you know for sure when I'll be in New York."

"Let me now if you need anything, Quinn."

"Okay," Quinn muttered and then hung up. She hadn't really wanted to talk to Rachel; she didn't really feel like talking to anyone. She hadn't been back to Lima since she had left it right after high school. She hardly even had any contact with her family, and she preferred it that way. Ever since her parents had expelled her from their home when they found out she was pregnant at sixteen, things just hadn't managed to be mended.

Her parents had gotten a divorce and her father had tried to gain forgiveness, but his version of an apology came in the form of monetary compensation and not affection. Quinn accepted his money and had used it to run off to college. He had sent an apology check every month up until she finally told him that she could support herself and that she didn't have time to finish college because she was too busy running off to be a movie star.

He hadn't been happy with her life choice, but she had grown accustomed to disappointing him. Just as she was sure he had gotten used to disappointing her. Their mutual disappointment was their common ground. They gave up on winning each other's affection past the occasional life update, and had existed as father and daughter in mostly name only.

She skipped out on holidays, birthdays, anything really that should have mattered. She even avoided going to her mother's wedding when she had finally remarried. Quinn had sent a present. It wasn't the most thoughtful gift since it was only a card stuffed with a check, but since the check had been cashed Quinn considered the gift to be better than nothing.

When her father had remarried, Quinn had given the same gift that she had given her mother. Her father hadn't cashed her check, but she hadn't thought that he would. He was too prideful to take money from her, or maybe he had just been unwilling to accept anything that might make him indebted to her. Quinn honestly didn't know, and hadn't cared enough to ask, just like she hadn't cared enough to go back to Lima.

She sighed and then opened her eyes, but apparently it didn't matter that she didn't want to go to Lima, she was going to go. It was going to pull her back. So, she gathered up her bag and then pushed herself onto the plane. She sat in a trance throughout her flight, not wanting to put any effort into thinking about what would happen when her plane landed. She stayed in the haze even after her flight arrived. She kept it going and only broke it when she arrived at the hospital and was directed to her father's room.

She stood outside of the door not quite able to push herself to go inside. The medical staff had told her that her father would need surgery, but that he was currently stable, and then they had inappropriately asked for her autograph. Apparently, she was a big deal in Lima, Ohio since everyone there thought she considered it to be her hometown.

The door swung open and a young woman came walking out. She stopped when she noticed Quinn lingering. "You must be Quinn," the woman announced.

"And you must be my father's wife," Quinn replied.

"Lisa," the woman introduced herself. "I'm glad your mother could get a hold of you. I didn't have your number."

"Yeah, I'm glad, too," Quinn replied sarcastically. "Is he awake?"

Lisa shook her head. "No, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind you waking him up."

Quinn raised a brow. "I think I'll pass."

Lisa nodded as if she understood, but Quinn could tell that the woman didn't understand anything. "Well, if you don't have anywhere to stay you could stay at the house," she kindly offered. "That's where your sister is staying with her husband."

"Thanks, but I really don't think that will be necessary." Quinn was in no way interested in a family reunion. She looked away and peered down the empty hallways. "I should see my mom."

"We'll all be here in the morning," Lisa plastered on a false smile. "We'll see you then?"

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe," she said and then turned around. She walked away without saying goodbye and then hurried out of the hospital. She knew her father's wife was younger than him, but she hadn't really expected Lisa to maybe only be ten years her senior give or take a couple of years.

Quinn pulled out her phone and then looked down at it. She had several missed calls, but she only paid attention to the one she missed from Rachel. She stared at her phone for a few minutes debating whether she wanted to call her wife—it was still so weird to even think that—back or not. Quinn was almost certain that calling her wife back was the appropriate thing to do; it was what healthy married couples did.

"Quinn?" A familiar voice called out from behind her. She jumped at the unexpected intrusion and dropped her phone. It smashed into the ground and broke into several little pieces. "Damn it," she muttered.

"I'm sorry," the intruder apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Don't worry about it," she sighed as she bent down to pick up the remains of her phone. "How are you doing, Brittany?"

"Good," Brittany walked. "My shift just ended."

Quinn looked over at her high school friend. "I didn't know you worked here."

"How could you?" Brittany asked confused.

"I couldn't," Quinn answered. "So," she stood back up, the broken pieces in her hand, "you're a nurse?"

"No," Brittany shakes her head, "Physical therapist."

"That's great, Brittany," Quinn did her best to smile as happily as she could.

"Why are you here?" Brittany bluntly inquired.

Quinn looked back at the building she had been standing outside of the last fifteen minutes. "My dad," she eventually answers. "He had a heart attack or something."

"Is he okay?"

Quinn ran her hands through her hair. "He's peachy."

"I don't like hospitals," Brittany airily confessed.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "You work in a hospital," she needlessly pointed out.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Brittany offered. "It makes dealing with the hospital easier."

In Brittany World, Quinn realized, this conversation made perfect sense. "I'd love a drink."

Quinn stuffed her broken phone into her purse and then let Brittany lead her away. They ended up in a bar Quinn had snuck into as a teenager. It had been one of the places that didn't care too much about appropriate identification. As Quinn looked around at the other patrons, she realized the place hadn't changed at all. Under-aged kids still hung out there, with drinks in their hands. The same jukebox played the same old songs. The same alcoholics loitered around coveting their drinks in the same darkened corners.

Quinn shook her head and then reached down to pick up her beer bottle. She hated Lima thought as she took a long swig of her beer.

"Why are you here?" Brittany asked again, as Quinn lowered her bottle.

"I told you," Quinn pushed away her empty bottle hoping the waitress would know to bring her another, "my dad."

"But you never came back before."

"What do you mean?" Quinn looked away. Her eyes raked across the other patrons. Most of them she knew, there were only a few that she didn't.

"You didn't come when Santana married Puck," Brittany began to tick off. "You didn't come when Finn returned from the army or when Mr. Shue invited us all back for a reunion, you didn't when Santana had her baby, you…"

"I get it," Quinn interrupted. "I haven't been around much."

"You haven't been around at all."

"Fine," Quinn turned back to face Brittany, "I haven't been around at all."

"Your dad didn't die, so why are you here?"

The waitress came with another beer in hand. She smiled down at Quinn as she handed Quinn the new bottle. "You're Quinn Fabray, right?"

Quinn looked over the woman standing in front of her. She looked familiar, though she couldn't quite place from where. "Do I know you?"

"Only if you want to," the woman replied, and then turned to tend to another table.

Quinn watched the woman walk away, her eyes traced over the waitress's body. Maybe, she silently admitted to herself, Lima had changed a little.

"She likes money," Brittany said, her eyes focused on her brightly colored drink.

"You think she just wants me for my money?" Quinn asked, as she brought her fresh beer bottle to her lips.

Brittany nodded.

Quinn continued to watch the waitress move around the bar. She was feeling tempted. It had been a while since she had fulfilled any of her carnal desires and she was beginning to feel the frustration from the denial of release.

She sighed, and then turned back to Brittany. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Brittany immediately reached to her purse and then pulled out her cell. She handed it over to Quinn and then turned her attention back to her drink.

Quinn quickly dialed a number from memory and waited.

"Brittany?" The voice greeted uncertainly.

"Try again," Quinn quietly quipped.

"Quinn!" Rachel's uncertainty turned quickly to anger. "What's going on? Why are you using Brittany's phone."

"I killed mine," she admitted. "I'm going to have to find a store and replace it."

"How's your dad?" Rachel's voice settled.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie," Quinn apologized. "I shouldn't be here."

"W-what?" Rachel didn't understand. "Of course you should be there. Your father isn't well."

"But I don't care." Quinn shrugged. "It was just easier to come here than to go there."

There was a long moment of silence and then Rachel admitted a soft, "Oh."

For reasons Quinn couldn't even begin to understand her eyes began to tear up. "I'm sorry."

"Where are you?"

Quinn takes a look around. "The Waiting Room."

"So you are at the hospital?" Rachel sounded relieved.

"I was, but I'm actually at a bar called The Waiting Room," Quinn shamefully admitted. "It's across the street from the hospital."

"Fine," Rachel sighed. "I'm on my way."

"What?" Quinn shrieked. "Where are you?"

"I've been pacing outside of the hospital for the last thirty minutes trying to figure out how to approach you after you clearly sounded like you didn't want me around," Rachel hurriedly explained.

"So you're in Lima?" Quinn couldn't believe how excited she felt at the prospect.

"Yes, I'm in Lima," Rachel calmly exclaimed and then hung up.

Quinn looked at the phone, and then handed it back to Brittany. "Thanks."

Brittany shoved her phone back into her purse. "So you settled everything?"

"No," Quinn stood up. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out whatever cash she had and then threw it onto the table. "I've got to meet up with somebody."

She hoped to catch Rachel before an argument began in the middle of the bar. "Thanks for the drinks, Brittany. Are you going to get home okay?"

"Santana's coming. It's our night together." Brittany commented.

Quinn opened her mouth to ask Brittany what she meant, but quickly thought better of it. She didn't have time to delve into the intimate lives of her former best friends. "Okay," she said instead. "Have a good night."

Quinn walked to the exit and stepped out of the bar just as Rachel was stepping in. They stared at one another for a moment, and then Rachel walked away fully expecting Quinn to follow. Quinn took in a deep breath and slowly released it as she traced Rachel's footsteps.

Rachel didn't stop walking until they were properly hidden away in the back alley of the bar. "Speak," she ordered as Quinn came to a stop behind her.

"Can I kiss you first?" Quinn stepped closer.

"Absolutely not," Rachel replied incredulous.

Quinn ignored her. She reached out her arms and forced Rachel into them. Rachel's body stiffened in Quinn's hold but quickly relaxed and succumbed to the crazy good endorphins that flooded over her when she was near Quinn. "I really don't know even if I should be upset with you," Rachel confessed as she wrapped her arms around Quinn's body.

"You probably should," Quinn kissed Rachel's forehead.

"But your father really is in the hospital," Rachel slackened their embrace. "You should be here for him."

"That boat has already sailed and lowered its anchor somewhere around 'Not Gonna Happen'." Quinn kept her voice neutral. She wasn't ready to have a conversation about how much her relationship with her father still left her unbalanced.

"At the risk of stating the obvious Psych 101 here," Rachel pulled back so that she could look into Quinn's eyes, "your inability to properly emote about your relationship with your father has a direct correlation to your interactions with me."

"Really? And here I thought, my paralyzing fear at realizing I'm married to you is what was effecting my interactions with you."

"Your sarcasm, while I understand is a defense mechanism, is not appreciated." Rachel forced herself out of Quinn's hold. It would have been a perfect time for either one of them to mention annulment, but they both kept silent.

They honored their commitments and pushed through even when it might have been best to bail out.

"So if I do this thing with my family," Quinn reached out for Rachel again, not quite able to talk herself into allowing any distance between them, "does that mean you're going to stick around for it?"

"I'm your wife Quinn Fabray," Rachel settled back into Quinn's arms. "I will be here for you in whatever capacity you need me to be."

Quinn closed her eyes. Tears started to drift down her cheeks and as she felt them fall she tried to remember the last time she had cried, but she couldn't conjure up the memory. She was Quinn Fabray, and Quinn Fabray didn't cry. She didn't feel sorry for herself and certainly didn't succumb to emotional weakness. Quinn Fabray was a warrior. Hell, Quinn Fabray was Supergirl…and Rachel Berry was her Kryptonite.

"Thank you," Quinn murmured as she held tightly onto her wife of two weeks.

They stayed wrapped around each other already having recognized that physical distance did not work in their favor. Distance gave them time to think, and question and build up old defenses that had long protected them from the pain of being vulnerable to another human being.

"Let's go see your father," Rachel whispered.

Quinn thought of about ten million reasons why going back to the hospital was a bad idea, but she didn't voice any of them. She let Rachel take her back to the hospital and let her lead her to her father's bedside. He was still sleep, but his sleep didn't look peaceful. He looked as if his dreams were torturing him. She thought about waking him up, saving him from whatever nightmares he was stuck in, but she didn't really want to save him from his terrors.

She just stood and looked at his weakened body.

"You do realize," Rachel kept her voice low, "that the only reason why you think you feel so coldly towards your father is because you in actuality feel so much, perhaps, even too much to handle."

Quinn snorted. "Yeah, I know."

"Then, might I also point out that I feel incredibly honored that you have chosen to no longer act so coldly towards me."

Quinn swept her head around so that she could look at the woman standing behind her. "What are you saying, Berry?"

Rachel's eyes shifted to Quinn's father and then quickly back to Quinn. "I'm saying that," she paused so that she could swallow down her nerves, "you married me. You offered us a conclusion before we even really had a beginning, and chose to offer us forever. You didn't choose indifference; you didn't act like you didn't care."

Quinn was set to disagree because she knew that she had chosen to be indifferent and coldhearted towards Rachel for years. She hadn't given them a chance at anything. But, Rachel wouldn't let her disagree. "No, Quinn, when the right moment came you didn't turn away."

The 'right moment'? Quinn didn't know what that meant. Every moment seemed like the wrong one. Even this one seemed to be highly inappropriate if she considered the fact that they carried on the conversation in her father's hospital room. None of it seemed right. None of it felt right.

"You ever think, Berry, that I gave us a death sentence?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, not at all," she honestly replied.

Quinn looked to her father. His body was motionless; his face was still contorted in pain. She hated to admit it, but she was his daughter, created and molded in his image. In thirty years she suspected that she'd be tied down by her misery and denied any restful sleep. She'd descend into the ranks of the people who couldn't ever love anyone.

Quinn looked back to Rachel, her Kryptonite, her wife, the crazy girl who she had known for most of her life. "I love you, Rachel Berry."

It was the first time she had ever said it. They were doing their whole relationship backwards. Marriage first, then came love, eventually they'd even manage to date.

Rachel released a huge sigh of relief. She hadn't been completely confident which side of Quinn would emerge from their conversation. She had been leading by instinct and had hoped that when it was over she wasn't back in New York alone. She had come to Lima selfishly. While she would do anything necessary to help Quinn with her father, she was more determined to make certain that Quinn was not abandoning her.

Every day Rachel prepared herself for when Quinn would finally decide that their relationship was over. In her mind, this was inevitable: one day Quinn would wake up and realize that she was married to Rachel Berry and everything would suddenly be over. Poof. Gone.

"I love you, too, Quinn." But in that moment, nothing was going to disappear. Quinn was standing right there with her, and Rachel wouldn't let her go away. They didn't have to be in New York, nor did they have to be in Los Angeles. As long as they were together, they could continue to create these insane moments of wonderful.


	4. Chapter 4

AND THE WINNER IS…(PRESENT)

The car door opens and she's suddenly overcome with nervousness. The flashing lights from the cameras greet her as she exits, and she automatically plasters a small smile on her face. She's been to this sort of event before, but she doesn't recall feeling this unprepared, and she absolutely despises the feeling especially since she doesn't quite know why she's feeling it. It is not her night to shine even if it is hers to celebrate.

She hears her name being shouted from the crowd and gives a small wave and smiles some more. Once she feels she's been considerate enough of her audience, she turns back to the limousine she's just stepped out of. She offers her hand to the passenger still waiting to emerge.

The flashes and yells continue, but her focus is on the woman moving to stand next to her. Her nerves are still present, but she at least has bitten down the urge to vomit. She looks into her companion's bright loving eyes and her nervousness lessons slightly. She lets the moment linger between them as long as possible until they are no longer able to block out the myriad sensory stimulants surrounding them. Within moments, they are joining the march down the famous Red Carpet.

Their trek takes them to even more cameras, and then they are lined up to begin giving interviews. Their first stop is to a raised platform where a famous reality television host is asking celebrities the typical over-asked questions: 'Who are you wearing?' 'How do you feel about tonight?' 'What are you doing afterwards?'. When it is their turn to step in front of the camera the host stumbles over their names, not having expected them to interview together. The network goes to a commercial break and everyone is given two minutes to prepare.

During the break, he's handed a notecard that has quickly scribbled facts on it about their lives. When the cameras go live again, he turns to them and then starts filling them in on interesting facts about their lives, that have been repeated to them a few hundred times before.

"So, Quinn Fabray, Rachel Berry, I hear you two are going to star in a movie together. Is there any truth in that?"

They look at each other and then back to him. "We're in talks," Rachel answers. "But we do look forward to doing a project together eventually."

"Yeah, now a lot of people might not know this, but you two actually grew up together, went to the same schools and everything. Did you ever think you'd both end up here when you were kids?"

"Rach always thought she'd be here," Quinn comments smirking, her eyes meeting Rachel's.

Rachel rolls her eyes and playfully slaps Quinn on the arm. "Yes, but I'm not the one nominated."

"If you had seen how nervous she's been all week you'd think differently," Quinn admits. "She kept calling me making sure I didn't forget anything."

"Oh, that's sweet," their interviewer cuts in. "So, I guess you came with Quinn tonight to keep her in line," he jokes.

"She can't be trusted to do it on her own," Rachel goes along with their joke.

"I think at some point I should start feeling offended," Quinn pouts.

They all laugh and Rachel wraps her arms around Quinn hugging away any insult. Their time runs out and quickly they are asked which designers they are wearing and then ushered away by a crew member who is leading them to each interview.

"That's Natalie Tachi," the man guiding them informs. "She's from Les Entertain, the lesbian entertainment news website. You don't have to do that one if you don't want."

"Why wouldn't I do it?" Quinn asks genuinely. Her manager has already informed everyone that she will do all the interviews that time permits. They are seeking out as much publicity as possible.

The man shrugs and then leaves them to do their short question and answer session.

"Wow," Natalie gushes as Rachel and Quinn step in front of her, "this is really amazing. You both are such icons. Rachel we all know you've been a great supporter of Gay and Lesbian rights. Are your fathers here with you tonight?"

"No, and they hate me for it," Rachel laughs. "But I know they're proud of Quinn." She waves to the camera. "Hi Dad and Daddy."

"Speaking of," Natalie shifts towards Quinn, "Supergirl II is coming out early next year. I can't tell you how cool it is to have such a positive role model for women and girls on the big screen, finally. Personally, I think you should have been nominated for Supergirl, too."

Quinn chuckles. "Thank you. I'm really happy to have been given the opportunity to play Supergirl. It's been an amazing experience."

"Rachel, we know that you did a cameo in the second Supergirl," Natalie says, "Is there any chance you play Supergirl's secret lover, because that would totally rock?"

"I'm afraid not," Rachel answers laughing. "I think the only reason why I got in Supergirl II in the first place is because I was hanging out on the set so much they just figured they'd make me work while I was there."

"You were hanging out with Quinn?" Natalie clarifies.

"We hardly get to see each other," Quinn adds. "I'm always in Los Angeles and Rachel's always in New York. So, we took the opportunity to spend some time together when we could."

"That's really cool," Natalie comments. "We know that you two are really good friends and that you've known each other since grade school so that must mean you know all of each other's secrets."

Rachel and Quinn glance at each other. "I don't know about that," Quinn slyly confesses. "She's pretty sneaky when she wants to be."

Rachel scoffs. "I can assure you that I'm currently keeping nothing from you."

"In that case," Natalie jumps in, "Quinn, is Rachel Berry dating someone?"

They look at each other then back to their interviewer. "Dating?" Quinn repeats. "I don't know," she looks down to Rachel. "Are you?"

"I'm happy," Rachel answers.

"Is that a yes," Natalie looks to Quinn. "Because if it is I think Rachel Berry just shattered the hearts of millions of hopeful lesbians everywhere."

"She's always been a heartbreaker," Quinn wraps an arm around Rachel's waist.

"Do you know this from firsthand experience?" The interviewer asks. Her question is perceptive, but she keeps it lighthearted.

"Any differences Rachel and I have had we've worked through it." Quinn's answer is well rehearsed. Since they decided to do Isaias's movie, the spotlight has been on their relationship. People from their pasts have been stepping forward to sell information about the lives Rachel and Quinn had moved on from long ago. The current rumor circulating the front pages is that Quinn and Rachel were, at heart, enemies. They are suspected of only being friends for publicity reasons. Behind closed doors they are suspected of arguing incessantly and being driven by petty jealousies.

Their interview is over and they shuffle onto the next. It continues on this way until they are finally seated and waiting for the show to begin. Once it does, the minutes rapidly pass by and all too quickly Rachel is taken from her seat so that she can prepare to hand out the next award. She's rushed backstage and given quick last minute instructions. The show is already running behind, so things are being cut short.

Within moments, she's called to present along with the new up and coming actor that recently starred in the vastly popular vampire movie. Rachel met him for the first time during rehearsing and thus far hasn't been very impressed, but she doesn't complain about being paired with someone with such an empty pool of talent because she's not here for herself. She reminds her ego once more that tonight is really not about her.

It doesn't matter that the only reason she was chosen to present in the first place is because the network hosting the show this year is the network she's currently working for. Along with honoring performances, the night has been one long promotion for one network show after another. The commercial breaks have handled the promotions of movies. In Rachel's humble opinion, the night has been a great commercial success.

Rachel walks to the stage, pushing her somewhat jades point of view to the back of her mind. In the end, she didn't care what brought her to the stage to announce the winner of Best Actress in a Motion Picture. She and her fellow presenter read off the names of the nominees. When the cameras have swept across the audience and the clips from the movies have shown, Rachel yanks the envelope away from the man next to her so that she can read off the name of the winner.

She tears into the envelope and rips the card out. She reads over the name once and then again just to make sure she's gotten it right.

"And the winner is…" Her fellow announcer prompts.

"The winner is," Rachel repeats her voice shaky, "Quinn Fabray for Death Massacre."

Rachel is shaking and stops breathing as she watches her wife approach the stage. She knows that Quinn really wasn't expecting to win. Quinn never expects any accolades for anything she does. Deep down Quinn is still the girl seeking out everyone's approval without ever actually suspecting she'll actually get it.

Rachel watches as Quinn climbs the stairs and then heads straight for her. They wrap their arms around another as soon as they are close enough and Rachel whispers into Quinn's ear, "I told ya so, Baby."

Quinn pulls away with a radiant smile on her face. Her eyes are sparkling and as soon as she's handed her Oscar she hands it over to Rachel and then turns to the microphone. "Rachel told me I'd win," Quinn announces breathlessly, "and I told her that she was delusional." She shrugs. "I lost a bet so Berry gets to hold onto Mr. Oscar until she feels I, and I quote, 'properly recognize the import of this honor and admit that I deserve to win'. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to admit the last part, Rach, but I am honored to have been chosen by the Academy. My thanks to everyone involved in Death Massacre and all of you that worked so much harder than I ever could to make this movie as great as it turned out to be, especially to Conroe Productions who decided this was a movie worth making in the first place." Quinn takes a deep breath. "I'd like to thank everyone who helped get me here and of course I want to thank Rachel, who was the first person in my life who taught me what it meant to dream big." She turns to Rachel. "Thank you."

Rachel can no longer stand to be in the background. She rushes forward and wraps her arms around Quinn again. When they break apart, they are ushered off stage so that the show can go on. When they are away from the stage they take a moment to intimately hold each other. Rachel offers her congratulations again and Quinn does her best to accept them.

HEARTBREAKER (Past)

It was tradition for members of the cast to get together for drinks at a local hole in the wall karaoke bar after any one of them received a particularly scathing review. Rachel would normally tag along to be a team player but wouldn't imbibe, and most certainly wouldn't sing. She'd sit and listen to her cast mates drink away the derogatory remarks describing a performance and would offer her own semi-encouraging words when appropriate. It was a tradition she had dealt with out of necessity until she had received her own first scathing review.

The reviewer had called her a Freakazoid of epic proportions who looked more awkward on stage than an alcoholic at an intervention. The review had been a travesty; Rachel Berry did not receive poor reviews only the productions Rachel Berry was in received bad reviews. She was the bright spot in otherwise poorly produced material. She was the fresh air filtered in from the talentless performers who polluted the stage.

Since she had come to New York, Rachel had dealt with harsh criticism but blatant vitriol had disappeared after she had left high school. The reviewer's comments had been a smashing blow to Rachel's ego. It made her feel like the outcast child again, a feeling she had managed to bury deep once she had gotten on stage in New York.

So when her fellow cast called for the first round of Tequila, Rachel Berry was ready to start imbibing. She let her proverbial hair down and let her coworkers tell her how the person who wrote that stupid little review was just some no-name asshole who was trying to use Rachel's fame to propel his own. The reviewer was the type that had chosen to use snarky, sarcastic, negativity to make a name for himself and he had gone after the hottest up and comer on Broadway.

Their words, while not untrue, did nothing to ease Rachel's wounded pride, but the Tequila helped so she just kept drinking and blocked out whatever anyone said to her. She was on her third shot when she spotted a familiar face in the crowd and then hurried to push her shot glass away.

"Rachel," the newcomer greeted.

Rachel's brown eyes raked over the woman standing next to her. "Leona," she stuttered. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

"Yeah, how about that?" Leona's gray eyes turned to the bar. "You probably thought you'd be safe from the boss for one night."

Rachel looked over the woman again. "Don't be ridiculous. Your presence is never a burden." Leona was the president of the production company that had produced the play Rachel had just received the biting review in. They were a major company across the United States and Rachel had been lucky to make their acquaintance so early in her career.

Leona turned back to face the crowd of people behind them. "You see that group of women over there?" She pointed to a corner booth where several women sat huddled in conversation. "Friends of mine who are currently attempting to set me up with the blonde sitting at the end."

Rachel's eyes searched out the group Leona was pointing to. She looked over the blonde woman she assumed Leona was talking about. "She's attractive," she commented.

"He's attractive," Leona pointed to the man currently singing on stage, "but that doesn't mean he's my type."

"Yeah right," Rachel laughed nervously.

"Enough about me," Leona turned back to face the bar. "Let's focus on why most of my cast is out at a karaoke bar getting hammered."

Rachel hadn't gotten a chance to spend time with Leona. The woman had been there for all of her auditions and a few of the rehearsals. As far as producers went, she wasn't entirely hands on. Usually, she showed up when a problem needed solving. In one past production, Rachel had been privy to Leona showing up to a performance just so that afterwards she could fire one of the actresses who had missed a rehearsal because of a hangover.

Rachel actually found the woman to be quite intimidating. Leona was almost six feet tall; she had caramel toned skin, often serious gray eyes, and was always wearing a power suit. She reminded Rachel of her former Glee club member Santana who was always suited up in a cheerleading uniform and who exuded an almost effortless not to be fucked with vibe.

"No reason," Rachel did her best to hide her nervousness. "Just hanging out."

"And here I thought you all came out to lift your spirits after that guy posted his review about your performance." Leona motioned for the bartender. "I must have been mistaken."

"Y-you know about that?" Rachel realized she shouldn't have been surprised Leona knew about the cast's tradition. Leona was…well Leona had been in the entertainment industry since she was four years old. She had started out in an urban theatre production company and had toured the country in several of their productions. She left theatre at the age of twelve and moved onto television where she ended up being cast in a hit television show about teen werewolves. After a much publicized disagreement with the producers, Leona left the television show when she was sixteen and moved onto doing movies. She did one summer blockbuster after another until she was twenty and then she started up her own production company.

Leona was only twenty-eight years old and had somehow managed to already make herself into a legend. So, the mere fact that she was now standing next to Rachel and instigating a casual conversation about social activities after hours seemed, to Rachel, to be a little bit absurd.

Leona turned to Rachel. "Don't you know, Rachel? I know everything."

"Well," Rachel cleared her throat, "I assure you that this will in no way effect my future performances. While I do believe the reviewer's remarks were not at all accurate, I am willing to take criticism and direction to better…"

"Hey, Superstar," Leona interrupted. "I was joking. Trey asked me to join him one night when you all came out. He explained the whole thing to me."

"Oh." Rachel closed her mouth. Trey played the male lead and had received the first disparaging review. He had started the tradition and often invited anyone who could pay for their own drink, and maybe his, to come along with him.

"And well, I knew about the review because it's my job to know what people are saying about a play I've invested millions of dollars into." Leona bowed her head and ran long fingers through thick black hair.

Rachel sat and watched wide eyed. She had never really noticed just how lovely Leona looked when she wasn't busy actively intimidating the people around her.

"You're worried about it?" Rachel ventured to guess, the alcohol and Leona's unexpected humanness making Rachel more willing to continue their conversation.

Leona clasped her hands together and looked over at Rachel, her gray eyes sparkled faintly even in the dim light. "Sometimes you have the right pieces on the chessboard you just don't have them in the right position at the right time."

"I'm losing my job, aren't I?" Rachel interpreted.

"You aren't," Leona softly replied, "but the others are."

"What do you mean?" Rachel looked over to her fellow cast who were all mostly on their way to being very drunk.

Leona looked around as well, but then focused back on Rachel. "Do you want get out of here?"

Rachel looked to the corner booth where Leona's friends sat. They were all staring at them. "What about your friends?"

"They'll probably think I just picked you up and that I'm about to get lucky." Leona turned to look at her friends as well. "They'll call me an asshole but will eventually forgive me."

Rachel smirked. "Well as long as we both know that is not the case," she dropped from her seat, "where do you want to go?"

"Sanctuary," Leona smiled and reached out for Rachel's hand.

"Sanctuary?" Rachel repeated. "Is that another club?"

"Let me lead and you just follow, okay?" Leona squeezed the smaller hand held in hers.

Knowing she should refuse, Rachel went along anyway. She let Leona lead her out of the bar and to whatever destination Leona had in mind, which turned out to be Leona's loft apartment. When they stepped through the door, there was a small sign on the wall that read 'Sanctuary'.

Rachel stepped into the space, amazed. She had been in a studio apartment before, but never one so large where all the walls seemed to have been purposively removed, and where the only furniture was one black leather couch and a glass coffee table. "This is incredible," Rachel commented as she walked through the emptiness.

"I hate clutter," Leona stood next to Rachel. "Things tend to get in the way of life."

"And upstairs?" Rachel looked to the staircase leading up to the second level.

Leona shrugged. "Pretty much the same. I have a wonderful bed and a place to store my clothes. You can go up and look if you'd like."

Rachel was tempted, but decided it might not be appropriate to go exploring another woman's bedroom. "Perhaps another time."

"Perhaps," Leona stepped away. "Can I get you something to drink? And if you say yes please keep in mind that I only have water and sparkling water to choose from."

"Then sparkling water, please." Rachel followed Leona to the kitchen. "So, this is your sanctuary."

"Every place else is filled with…clutter." Leona explained. "This is my freedom place where everything is easy."

"Including the women you bring back here?" Rachel deadpanned.

"Funny." Leona pulled open the refrigerator door, pulled out two bottles of water and then closed it. "But no." She handled one of the bottles to Rachel. "I don't bring women back here. I have another fully decorated luxury apartment for that."

"Oh." Rachel looked down at her bottle. "Then why am I here?" She realized how the question sounded and hurriedly tried to correct it. "Not that I thought you were trying to have sex with me because I know that's not what this is about. We were talking about things of a professional nature and I assure you that is what I am focused on. It would be highly inappropriate for us to carry on anything outside of…"

"Do you have an off switch?" Leona interrupted.

"Um…I…no." Rachel answered. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize." Leona smirked. "We all have our little quirks."

"Yes well," Rachel played with the bottle she held in her hands, trying to force down the blush that was rising to the surface of her cheeks. Leona made her feel unbalanced and she hadn't sobered up enough to have gained full control over what she was saying. "Why am I here?" She asked again.

"I'm shutting down the play." Leona unhesitatingly replied. "Are you hungry?" She turned back to the kitchen. "I have food and can cook."

Rachel spun around to follow Leona's pace. "What do you mean you're shutting down the play?"

Leona opened the refrigerator doors again and then started pulling out ingredients. "It's costing money and not making any. That makes it a bad business deal which makes it dead weight which makes it a failure."

"It's not a failure," Rachel disagreed. "I do agree, however, that it does need some work before it can reach its full potential."

"Really?" Leona closed the refrigerator and then moved to the cabinets so that she could begin pulling out cookware. "What changes would you make?"

Rachel's eyes widened. While she was not completely prepared to present her suggested changes she had made a list that she carried around with her in case such an opportunity arose. She reached into her purse and dug out her phone so that she could scroll through the notes she had made throughout the production process.

"The most important change," Rachel began to read off of her phone, "is scene transition. At times they are choppy and don't keep the audience immersed in the world we are trying to create."

"Now would you say that was the director's fault or is it the writing?" Leona asked, not turning to look at Rachel. She was too busy preparing whatever concoction she had set about to make.

"The fault lies with the director," Rachel replied unrepentantly. "The reason I was first drawn to the project was because of the writing."

"But," Leona looked over her shoulder to meet Rachel's eyes, "is it the writing that must adapt or the director?"

"The director," Rachel instantly replied.

Leona turned back to her cooking. "Okay, you think the fourth wall is being broken. How do you correct it? Now, keep in mind that you've already told me that the writing is sacrosanct."

Rachel stepped closer towards the kitchen. "Well, it would help if Trey stopped gawking at the audience every time he finally gets one of his lines right."

Leona chuckles. "Okay, what else?"

"In act one scene two…"

"Wow, act one scene two?" Leona interrupts. "The problems start that early on?"

Rachel knows Leona is joking, but she refused to let the opportunity pass her by. "Yes, they do."

"Okay, then please tell me what's wrong with act one scene two," Leona relents.

Rachel continued reading from the notes she had taken on her phone when necessary, but mostly responded to whatever prompts she received from Leona. The other woman seemed to genuinely listen to what Rachel had to say. She didn't tell Rachel to, 'be fair' or 'be nice' when Rachel spoke about the cast. She didn't tell Rachel to 'lighten up' when Rachel described in explicit details why the director and assistant producer had clearly not taken their jobs seriously.

Leona only cooked and listened, and when she was done cooking she filled two plates with food and then walked to the living room. "I hope you don't mind eating on the floor," she said as she spread out the food. "It's like having a picnic, except it's inside."

"I don't mind." Rachel sat down and looked over the dish Leona had prepared. "Is this vegan?"

"Yours is," Leona replied. "Mine is simply vegetarian pasta, because I enjoy cheese."

"You're a vegetarian?" Rachel asked somewhat surprised. Although, she was beginning to realize that she knew very little about the woman she was sharing the night with. Apparently, all the tabloids, blog sites, and gossip channels knew very little about who Leona was; they only knew what she was.

"I am." Leona sat down across from Rachel. "I keep on saying I'm going to make that small leap into veganism, but I can't ever fully commit."

"I understand." Rachel reached down and lifted up her plate. "But once you do transition it's hard to go back."

"There's an inappropriate joke lying in that sentence somewhere, I'm sure of it." Leona laughed.

Rachel blushed. "So are you still going to axe the play?" She changed the subject.

"Let me ask you something, Rachel." Leona kept her eyes on her fork as she twirled linguine around it. "Who is ultimately at fault that this production did not work?"

Rachel watched Leona twirl the fork around and then looked up at the woman sitting across from her. Leona's long dark hair fell across her face. "It's yours," she whispered.

"Gutsy," Leona commented. "But true," she admitted. "It is ultimately my failure so I can continue to let it suffer until it dies or kill it myself."

"Then why ask me for suggestions?" Rachel lowered her utensils. "Why not try to keep it alive?"

"Because your perspective is different than mine, but your suggestions all point to my conclusion, Rachel." Leona pointed out. "You started with act one scene two."

"Well maybe I was being overly critical," Rachel tried to recant. "I have a tendency to…"

"Want things perfect," Leona filled in. "You seek perfection and I don't like accepting anything less. Though," she shrugged, "I am often willing to compromise."

"I…" Rachel tried to come up with something that would change the effect her criticism had had, but she couldn't.

"This is a lesson for both of us, Superstar," Leona offered. "I just affirmed for myself that if something doesn't feel right in the beginning that it won't turn right in the end. And you," she pointed her fork at Rachel, "get to learn that your words have power. Use them wisely."

"But," Rachel began to protest but couldn't quite figure out what she was protesting. "I'm not sure this is fair. I feel partly responsible for everyone losing their jobs now when I had nothing to do with it. You had already made the decision before I even said anything."

"Hey, when did it suddenly become okay to lie in my sanctuary?" Leona asked.

"Lie?" Rachel was confused. "I don't know what you mean. I'm not lying."

"Yes you are," Leona challenged. "You have no way of being certain that I couldn't be swayed, and instead of honestly trying to sway my opinion you chose to take up the spotlight and showoff."

"I did no such thing!" Rachel huffed. "You asked for my opinion and I gave it."

"True, but you criticized everything about it except yourself. You need to recognize when it's time to shine and when it's time to step aside." Leona turned her attention back to her food.

"I have on several occasions been willing to 'step aside'," Rachel continued to protest.

"You knew that no matter what happened with this play that you were safe, you'd be cast in another of my productions, but still you chose to serve your ego."

When Leona looked back up Rachel saw the deceptive tint in the gray eyes. "Was this a test?" She asked uncertain.

"No," Leona replied. "It was a lesson."

"So you being at the bar tonight wasn't a coincidence?" Rachel relaxed her body and picked back up her utensils giving into whatever ruse she had already fallen for.

"I'm an opportunist not a mastermind of dastardly plots, Rachel." Leona laughed. "My friends wanted me to hang out with them tonight so that they could introduce me to someone. I don't have a GPS tracking device on you; I didn't know that you'd be there." She paused for a moment, "I just hoped you would."

Rachel felt marginally better. "You have certainly earned your reputation."

"I have a reputation?" Leona asked coyly. "I had no idea."

Rachel ignored her. She focused her attention on eating the meal Leona had prepared, not quite realizing how hungry she had been. The food was surprisingly good and to Rachel's relief, not laced with poison. Though, she suspected it had been laced with a dose of humility.

"Stop pouting." Leona finished her food. She laid back and rested her weight on her elbows.

"I'm not," Rachel disagreed, though she knew that she was most certainly pouting. She hadn't liked that she had been so easily outsmarted by someone else.

"Okay, well I'm going to change the subject." Leona closed her eyes and leaned all the way back. "So you grew up in Lima, Ohio?"

Done with her food, Rachel pushed her plate away from her but remained seated in an upright position. "Yes."

"My family is from Des Moines, Iowa" Leona said casually. "Every time I'd tell someone that I was going to visit them they'd always ask me if I was going to Ohio."

Rachel couldn't help it; she laughed.

"Iowa is more than its corn, you know." Leona lifted her head up so she could better look at the woman she was conversing with.

"Of course it is," Rachel humored the other woman. "So you grew up there?"

"Grew up?" Leona snorted. "I didn't 'grow up' anywhere. I grew up on the stage."

"That sounds very exciting." Rachel relaxed her body, once again letting go of some of her defenses.

"I think we're going to run into 'the grass is greener' kind of situation." Leona propped her head up on her hand. "I was surrounded by adults so couldn't ever relate to my peers."

"Neither could I," Rachel jumped in, "and I was raised in a semi-normal household. I was different and that didn't exactly make my life easy at my all American high school."

"And I didn't even have a chance to be an outcast at an all American high school," Leona rejoined. "I'll never know if I was a cool kid or a nerd or a freak."

"You would have been popular," Rachel was sure of it.

Leona narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that?"

"This whole night you've been nothing but charismatic and not at all awkward," Rachel explained. "You're attractive and I bet you're athletic. You can sing, dance and act. You're also deceptive and manipulative. You would have been popular."

"You flatter me with your compliments, even the backhanded ones." Leona laughed. "But you're judging me as I am now, not as I was when I was a teenager."

"I saw you as a teenager," Rachel replied. "Most of America did. You were beautiful."

"Yes well a team of makeup artists and hair stylist helped with that." Leona sighed. "I was awkward, though. I was growing into my freakish height and trying to secretly discover whether I liked boys or girls more."

"Is that why you left your show?" Rachel asked, her internal conversational filters having turned completely off.

Leona shook her head. "No. I left because I wanted more money and they didn't want to pay it."

"Do you ever think about anything except money?" Rachel was beginning to notice that the crude business mind Leona possessed wasn't completely flattering.

"This is my job not my passion," Leona admitted.

"Then why do it?" Rachel asked genuinely curious. "This is all I've ever wanted."

"I do it because it's all I've ever done," Leona answered.

"That's depressing," Rachel whispered.

"Maybe," Leona leaned back onto the floor.

They sat and talked for another few hours, both of them completely immersed in the conversation. When they were both too tired to continue on, Leona led Rachel to the bed upstairs. She offered Rachel some clothes to sleep in and then they both fell asleep.

Rachel woke up the next morning snuggled up against Leona's warm body. She feelt safe and well rested. Any affects her negative review had had were successfully erased by Leona's unique interference. It was kind of amazing how her night had turned out.

Nothing had happened between them, Leona hadn't flirted with her, and no lines had been crossed. Things had remained completely platonic. Yet, Rachel couldn't quite shake the feeling that she had done something terribly wrong. She had enjoyed a wonderful evening with a woman that wasn't her wife.

"You think loudly in the morning," Leona grumbled her eyes remained closed.

"How do you know…" Rachel asked as she propped herself up so that she could look over at Leona.

"I'm magic," Leona joked. "But if you're thinking this loudly that probably means you need to get home." She pushed the covers off of her body and then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I'll drive you."

"That's not…"

"Necessary?" Leona finished Rachel's sentence. "Of course it's not, but I feel bad having you fend for yourself, Superstar." Leona pushed up off the bed and went about grabbing clothes and then went off to the bathroom. Rachel sat motionless as she watched Leona move about.

A few moments later, it was her turn to use the restroom. She gathered herself as much as she could and then allowed Leona to drive her home. She even stupidly invited Leona up to her apartment so that they could talk about the next project Leona had planned for her. She promised to cook breakfast.

As they turned to the corner to get to Rachel's apartment, Rachel stopped dead in her tracks and Leona ran into her. They toppled over each other and the only reason they didn't fall to the ground was because Leona balanced them by grabbing a hold of Rachel's waist.

Rachel jumped out of Leona's grasp and shoved the woman away from her. "Nothing happened." She stated her words directed to the woman leaning against her apartment door.

"That's not true," Leona commented as she regained her balance from Rachel's violent shove. "You just pushed me." Her eyes moved to the woman standing in front of them. "But other than that, nothing happened," she smiled. "I promise."

Quinn pushed up off of the door. "I caught an earlier flight," she told Rachel. "I wanted to surprise you."

"I'm glad," Rachel moved to Quinn. "I've missed you." She wasn't going to admit that she had completely forgotten that Quinn was coming at all. They hadn't seen each other in two months since Quinn was filming a coming of age film on location in Australia.

Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn and initiated one of the most awkward hugs she had ever shared with the other woman. When they pulled apart the awkwardness continued with forced smiles and fabricated kindness. Quinn turned to Leona. "I'm Quinn Fabray, it's nice to meet you."

"Leona Conroe," the other woman smiled.

Quinn eyes narrowed, immediately recognizing the name. "The Leona Conroe?"

"A Leona Conroe," the taller woman replied. "Though, I don't know anyone else with the name."

"She's the president of the production company that produced my latest endeavor," Rachel hurried to explain. "That's why she's here; we're meeting about future prospects."

"I was here for that," Leona clarified, "but three is a crowd. I'll leave you two to your reunion."

"You don't have to leave," Quinn offered. "Rachel wasn't even expecting me."

"Maybe not," Leona grinned, "but I bet she's a lot more interested in being in your company than mine," she added knowingly.

Rachel opened her mouth to explain but Leona held up her hand. "Don't explain," she said. "I honestly rather not know why Supergirl is hanging out on your doorstep. I'll send you the new script. Send me your notes when you get a chance." She turned to Quinn. "It was nice to meet you, Quinn." Leona then turned and walked away. She didn't even bother to look back.

"Nothing happened," Rachel said again as soon as Leona was gone.

"You're saying that a lot," Quinn needlessly pointed out. "You're actually saying it so much that I'm starting to believe that something did happen."

"Nothing happened," Rachel desperately repeated. "I got a bad review and I was feeling bad. She picked me up at a bar and we went to her place and she talked about shutting down the play and then we started talking and we shared a bed, but nothing happened."

"You shared a bed?" Quinn forced herself to remain calm.

"We slept in the same bed but nothing happened," Rachel clarified.

Quinn looked at her wife. They had only been married for four months, and most of that time had been spent apart. They hadn't even managed to make love yet. They'd been waiting for a moment where they both felt comfortable and were ready to take that kind of risk.

"I believed you the first time you said it," Quinn replied. "The more you say it, though, the more I'm beginning to believe that you wanted something to happen."

Rachel didn't reply. She didn't know what to say.

"Can we go inside now?" Quinn asked. "I would really rather not continue this out here."

"Of course." Rachel hurried to unlock the door. Once they were both inside, they stood across from each other the silence bursting between them.

"At the risk of you breaking my heart," Quinn finally spoke, "I'm going to ask you if this is going to be enough for you."

Rachel wished she was sitting down. She'd feel much more comfortable sitting down. "It's enough," she assured.

"See," Quinn laughed humorlessly, "I'm not sure it is."

"You can't ask me a question and answer it for me," Rachel defended.

"Yes, I can," Quinn argued, "because I'm not sure this is even enough for me."

"Wh-what?" Rachel stuttered.

"You just had Leona fucking Conroe walking you to your door Rachel." Quinn pointed at the door as if somehow Leona would suddenly appear again.

"She's…not that great," Rachel lied.

"Yes she is," Quinn replied as if Rachel should have known better than to lie. "I was just standing in front of her for five minutes and I felt how stupidly attractive she is."

"It doesn't matter." Rachel stepped away from the door. She needed to sit down.

"It does matter." Quinn followed her. "It matters because we're married and we have to decide if committing adultery is okay."

Rachel stopped walking. "What do you mean, 'if committing adultery is okay'? Of course it's not okay."

"Then how do we make this enough?" Quinn asked. "Because I almost slept with someone else!" She yelled out her confession. "That's why I'm here so early. I knew that if I stayed another night then I would have cheated on you."

For living an outlined and pre-planned life, Rachel was oftentimes impulsive. Her emotions became wildly overwhelming and she did whatever she felt she needed to do in the moment. She took a moment to reflect on how every time she saw her wife, it always felt like Quinn was slipping through her fingers but at the same time tattooing her presence all throughout Rachel's every thought and action.

When it came to Quinn there was no control. It was all explosive and implosive at the same time.

Her wife had almost cheated on her.

She had wanted to kiss Leona Conroe.

Building a relationship around a marriage was one of the hardest things Rachel had ever tried to do.

"This is enough," she said doing her best to convince herself and her wife, but she knew that words wouldn't be enough for either one of them. So she closed the distance between them and captured Quinn's lips. Quinn moved to pull away but Rachel wouldn't let her. She persisted until Quinn's protests went away.

She guided them back towards the door and then pushed Quinn against it. Her hands worked at unbuttoning Quinn's jeans. Quinn's hands threaded through Rachel's hair, pulling her even closer. Their lips met again and Rachel continued to remove or tear away any bit of clothing Quinn wore. She didn't stop to consider romance. She was trying to prove a point. She was trying to prove that she wasn't going to break Quinn's heart and that she damn well wasn't going to let Quinn break hers either.

Rachel's hands slid along Quinn's body. She rested them on Quinn's hips, and took in a ragged breath before she pushed forward releasing any doubts she may have had before she buried her fingers into Quinn's core. She moaned as she felt Quinn around her fingers. It felt wonderful and scary at the same time.

Quinn moaned and leaned forward, seeking out Rachel's lips again. They kissed as Rachel slowly began pumping her fingers deeper inside of Quinn.

"You have too many clothes on," Quinn managed to say. She began pulling at Rachel's clothes, wanting to feel Rachel's skin brushing against hers.

Rachel took a moment to yank off her clothes, thinking that the feel of Quinn's breast brushing against her own would be the most wonderful feeling in the world. Once their skin did touch neither of them could continue to stand. They collapsed to the floor, their lips still firmly locked together.

The only thing either one of them could think of was, 'More'. This was never going to be enough. They could never get enough. The small little world that suddenly came into creation when they were together opened up again. It sucked them in and pushed out everything and anyone else that would dare trespass.

Fulfillment couldn't come from anyone else.

"More," Quinn begged. "Please."

Rachel responded by reaching her hand between their bodies so that she could touch Quinn again.


	5. Chapter 5

NO PARAMETERS (PRESENT)

She's tired and frustrated and all she wants is to be removed from this situation, but of course there is no escape. When it comes to her wife, she is never allowed to walk away. She is forced to stay and deal with whatever irritant raises her ire. She has had years of practice, but knows that no amount of practice will completely acclimate her to the aspects of her life she can't avoid.

The whole project was kind of a bad idea, and she knew from the beginning that it would be. But, it was also a wonderful opportunity and she really was more into the art of the business than the fame. If she had just wanted to be famous, then she would have ridden the success brought to her by Supergirl until she was replaced by a newer younger model. As it is, she is actually under contract to complete at least two more Supergirl movies, but the role isn't very challenging to her anymore and she is foolish enough to have believed she was in need of a challenge.

She ridiculously agreed to participate in a four day session for the debut class for her wife's friend's newly created acting studio. The students were not handpicked for the session. The class had been populated on a first come first serve basis so the range of experience and talent seems to be a statistical disaster that prohibits any real chance at conducting a specialized course.

The school founder is a moderately successful theatre producer who, it seems, thinks big but lacks the skill to foster the grandiose ideas. The first session is being hosted in an old house that has been converted into a museum. The space is cozy and welcoming, but also not at all equipped for performances.

It was the first night, and she has just been introduced as the star guest. Rachel Berry will actually be leading the sessions that just that morning has been decided to focus on the audition process. Each student has been given a folder with a monologue enclosed that they will perform. Each will perform the monologue twice. The first performance will be critiqued by Rachel—God help the poor souls—while it is being performed and the second will be the actual performance.

She knows that the spontaneity and ill prepared directive of the first session will surely have her wife up all night putting together a lesson plan. This is supposed to be their break, their vacation, their opportunity to get back to the basics they have been so far removed from. The next four days, she realizes, are going to be anything but a laid back time.

It was only the first night, though, and the itinerary she has been handed outlines that the first night is a Meet and Greet with a quick question and answer session at the end. She is surrounded by students who are interested in holding her in conversation. When she takes a look around, she notices that her wife has somehow escaped from the queue of students who are seeking advice, offering admiration, or participating in shameless self-promotion.

"Excuse me," Quinn interrupts the student currently speaking to her about his aspirations to become an R&B artist. She doesn't wait for a response before she walks away. She walks down a hallway that the group of students seems to have been informed to avoid. The back hallway leads her past an empty office to a door that is slightly ajar. She pushes it open and is immediately annoyed when she sees Rachel sitting on a bed with the woman who had picked them up from the airport.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asks her brow rises; her voice is deceptively soft.

Rachel's hands indicate the papers laid out between her and the other woman. "This is an emergency, Quinn," she exclaims. "We have to organize this…this travesty."

"Hey!" The woman next to Rachel interjects clearly taking offense. "I think it's sort of a miracle that we've managed to pull together what we have."

Rachel's attention turns away from Quinn to the woman sitting next to her. "Clearly, you have overestimated what qualifies as a miracle by having exceptionally low expectations."

"Rachel," Quinn chastises. "Be nice to Krista." Krista is the studio founder's assistant. She is the one who has coordinated the logistics for the entire session. She is not famous. She is not remarkable in any way that the fame seekers in the next room would latch onto. She is 'the help' and therefore, Quinn knows, most likely the most important person in the room. Krista is the gatekeeper granting coveted access and more able to guide a person in the direction of their dreams.

Quinn knows this is the reason why Rachel has imprisoned the woman in this room without means of escape. Krista's boss is the one with the grandiose ideas and Krista is the one who implements them. Rachel is well versed enough in the dynamic to understand that any changes she demands to be made will fall into Krista's lap.

"I am being nice," Rachel defends. "I don't believe this is entirely your fault."

Krista smirks. "Wow." She chuckles. "Just wow."

"Please ignore her." Quinn moves closer to the bed. "She's panicking."

Krista looks to Rachel, then down to the papers laid out across the bed, and then to Quinn. "I've been told there are thousands of people who would give up a vital body part to have my job. Do you know how I ended up here?" She rhetorically asks. "I was unemployed and Chandra saw me in a coffeehouse organizing some paper cups while I was waiting for my order. Somehow, that small regrettable OCD trait landed me this job because Chandra decided she needed a Yin to her Yang."

Chandra is the founder of the acting studio. Quinn has only met her a few times, but at each meeting Quinn deemed Chandra suitably eccentric for a writer/producer/director. "What did you do before this?" Quinn asks, curious about the woman who has been designated their tour guide through the weekend.

"Logistics," Krista answers. "But now I see that I should have listened to my two year old nephew and figured out how to become a dragon slayer."

"I don't think either of you are giving this crisis proper attention." Rachel runs her hands through her hair clearly frustrated with the situation she has suddenly been submerged in. "We have…"

"Rach," Quinn interrupts. "It'll be fine."

Rachel's eyes meet Quinn's. They stare at each other for a long moment.

"So hey," Krista slides off of the bed, "I think I need to go back to the front room where everyone can continue to ignore me since I'm not famous. I'll leave you two to discuss the battle plan." She steps out of the small bedroom having sensed her chance at escape.

Quinn and Rachel watch Krista leave knowing that the woman is making a strategic retreat. "Do you think Chandra would be upset if we stole her assistant?" Quinn asks after the bedroom door is closed.

"She's oddly refreshing," Rachel compliments. "Though, she is completely clueless about the entertainment industry. I'm fairly certain that she didn't even know who I was the first time we spoke."

Quinn slides onto the bed. "She mistook me for Buffy: The Vampire Slayer."

"She lacks knowledge, but there is talent lurking underneath her ignorance." Rachel starts picking through the papers surrounding her. "Trust me, I can sense these things."

Quinn stretches out on the bed, not caring that she is ruffling around the papers Rachel has organized. "What do you think her talent is?"

Rachel shrugs. "I haven't figured it out yet." Her eyes continue looking over her hastily written out amendments to the current curriculum.

Quinn reaches over and takes the papers out of her wife's hands, silencing any immediate protests by leaning over to capture Rachel's lips with her own. When she pulls away, Rachel moans in protest and leans forward so that they maintain physical contact.

The papers on the bed are forgotten as is the fact that they are in an art museum with thirty other people waiting for enlightenment on how to successfully pursue a career in entertainment. It all falls away and disappears into that place where all the things go that at one time seemed extraordinarily important. They make the moment easy and uncomplicated when it is easier to complicate their every circumstance, because the facts are complicating.

Fact: They risk exposure every day by leading an open life that is discretely veiled by euphemistic words and half-truths.

Fact: They both live three separate lives—A life together, a life apart, and a persona of a life.

Fact: They have been married for four years and are still the only ones that know about it.

Fact: They hide away not out of fear of controversy, but because they fear that letting outsiders into their world will destroy it.

They have both been, always have been, susceptible to the fair-weather fans in their mists. Rachel needs the spotlight and Quinn needs recognition. They have outgrown many vestiges of their childhoods, but some things are not outgrown. Perhaps, they cannot be outgrown or perhaps neither of them has really tried to change.

A knocking on the door drives them apart. They do not jump away from each other as if they will be caught doing something inappropriate, but rather they ease apart as if something precious is being interrupted. Krista opens the door, not waiting for permission to enter. By the time her eyes focus on the bed Quinn and Rachel have already divided.

Krista looks over them, giving them a look that conveys a particular type of uncertainty. Has she or hasn't she interrupted something she shouldn't have? Should she offer to leave?

It is a look they receive regularly, at least from perceptive audiences. It is a look that states they know something more is going on but can't identify what it is. Oftentimes the look is swept away with a dismissive head shake. Krista proves to be no different than the others. She shakes her head and then continues on with the business at hand. "You ready to start the Q&A?"

AFFLICTED (PAST)

Quinn believed that she had killed her impulsivity when she was sixteen. She had shot it, lit it on fire, and then buried the ashes so deep that not even God could unearth it. Impulsive. It was a curse word. Unfit for use in mixed company. It was what had driven her to lose her virginity to a dumb high school boy without any real consideration towards any means of birth control. The pregnancy that had resulted in the impulsive act had simply shattered the bits of innocence she was entitled to hold onto for the next few years at least.

Impulsive had killed her relationship with her parents. It had taken away all the things that meant everything to her at the time. It had killed her relationship with her boyfriend, since he hadn't exactly been the one to get her pregnant. It had killed her popularity, which was an essential survival mechanism in high school. It had killed her sense of home since her parents had ejected her from their lives. It had killed a piece of her heart since she had made the best decision she could by signing away her parental rights to her firstborn.

It had killed so much, so in return she had killed it, and it had remained dead until the day she saw Rachel Berry for the first time since they had graduated from high school.

Rachel Berry was the Energizer Bunny of Impulsive. She acted on instinct and often forgot about consequences. She was infected with impulsivity and somehow Quinn realized that she had not been made immune.

When she was around Rachel she got swept up in Rachel's bright ideas and discovered she was powerless from pulling back and listening to her common sense. Hell, she even fell prey to her own impulsivity and did things like taking Rachel to a courthouse so that they could get married. Her self-restraint only existed when she was outside of Rachel's presence, and her self-restraint had nearly proven to be as damaging as her impulsivity.

Her self-restraint let her scheme out damaging scenarios on how to destroy and control other people. It let her rule over people so that she never fell prey to them. It even managed to gain some control as she laid in the middle of Rachel's living room, her wife stretched out centimeters away from her. It kept her from reaching out and pulling Rachel closer, though she ached for the closeness.

They were each still breathing heavily from their recent attempt to wipe away their almost affairs. They had laid claim to each other in one big impulsive attempt to fend off whatever destruction was in their marriage's wake.

"Tell me about them," Rachel softly demanded.

Quinn would have asked Rachel what she meant, but Quinn didn't need to ask. She knew that Rachel wanted to know about the person she had almost slept with. Rachel was the type that wanted details and who couldn't stand not knowing the gritty facts. "He was unimportant."

"But not insignificant," Rachel pointed out not going to let Quinn hide away from what had happened.

"No," Quinn sighed, "not insignificant." She knew better than to disagree against such a blatant truth. "He was a local, a bartender." She closed her eyes. "Do you want to know his name?"

Rachel gave the question its proper consideration then softly answered. "No. I'm afraid that if I do then I'll prejudge anyone who is unfortunate enough to have the same name."

Quinn chuckled softly. "That's precisely why I would want to know," she confessed. "I'd get a chance at revenge at every corner."

"Do you plan on seeking out your revenge when it comes to Leona?" Rachel breached the barrier that separated them. She wanted the physical connection though there was really no way of telling how their conversation would end.

"I've thought about it," Quinn admitted. "But I think that would be like throwing rocks at a mountain. No matter how hard I throw, she won't topple over."

Rachel rested her head on Quinn's shoulder. "She's also innocent and a very powerful ally."

Impulsively Quinn leaned down and kissed Rachel's forehead. She let her lips linger before she pulled away. "At some point, we're going to have to talk about where our careers measure up against our marriage."

"At some point," Rachel agreed. "But I think it's entirely too early for that conversation."

"Then what kind of conversation should we be having?" Quinn kept her eyes closed. Somehow, not looking at Rachel gave her some small puddle of self-restraint.

"I believe we were discussing the man that led you to almost break your vows to me." Rachel didn't mind conversations that didn't directly get to the point, and she particularly enjoyed the meandering paths her conversations with Quinn so often took. Quinn only truly confessed important things when their conversation wandered.

"He was easy to talk to and handsome." She didn't know enough about him to point out any of his other positive traits. He had mostly just been 'some guy' and she had been in a poor mental place.

"So why him?" Rachel sounded so wounded that Quinn couldn't help but open her eyes so that she could look down at her wife's face.

Quinn was good at hurting people. It had been one of her special skills since she was a girl. Her ability to strategize and manipulate was so often used for evil rather than good. "Why not him."

Rachel moved to pull away but Quinn's arm finally curled around Rachel's smaller frame to hold Rachel in place. "I fear that your ability to hurt me has grown exponentially, Quinn, and I'm not entirely certain how many times I can forgive you for your attempts to ruin our relationship."

"I didn't follow through with it," Quinn defended herself. "Besides, what you did was way worse than what I did."

"W-worse?" Rachel pulled away and this time Quinn let her. "I doubt my transgression can truly measure up to yours. To have 'almost' slept with that…that man is much more than I did with Leona."

"But you felt, no," Quinn quickly corrected, "feel desire for her. You're infatuated with her. You have emotion and I don't feel a damn thing for Bartender Guy."

"I still fail to see how it is worse." Rachel stood up and then walked to her bedroom. Quinn absolutely refused to follow her.

"You cheated," Quinn accused. She made sure to speak loud enough so that Rachel could hear. "My 'transgression' was still all about you but yours wasn't about me at all."

When Rachel walked back into the living room she was dressed in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. She held clothes in her hands and when she was close enough threw them at Quinn. "I believe nudity is now completely inappropriate."

Quinn grabbed the clothes and then began dressing. She briefly considered fighting Rachel on this small point but decided against it since she knew which battle was the more important one to fight.

Rachel walked to the kitchen, not bothering to stick around to watch Quinn get dressed. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Water, please." The civility, Quinn knew, was the calm before the storm.

Rachel pulled two bottles of water from her refrigerator. She handed one to Quinn and then stepped away. Her body stiffened and her eyes locked onto Quinn's. "Do you honestly believe I should be flattered that you consider sleeping with someone else a compliment to me?"

"No," Quinn quickly rejoined, "but I do believe that motives are just as important as actions."

"Your motives do not absolve you of your mistakes," Rachel's voice rose slightly.

"And your inaction doesn't absolve you of yours." Quinn's voice matched Rachel's. "I did what I did because I am certain that you most likely are the best thing in my life and that fucking terrifies me, Rachel." Though she felt her throat beginning to constrict, she kept talking. "You did what you did because you aren't certain about me at all."

Rachel's eyes widened. She hadn't expected this attack and didn't know how to defend against it. "No," she shook her head. "No, I absolutely refuse to let you make me out to be the villain. You're exceptionally good at manipulating people and situations and I refuse to let you to do that. You did what you did because you want to test me. You want to see what it will take to get me to leave you; you want to know how impermanent I am. If that wasn't the case then you would have never told me about it in the first place."

"We both know that keeping silent about it would have come to bite me in the ass. It always does. I need to be, and you need me to be honest with you. That's how building this trust thing works." Quinn turned away from Rachel. She felt like she was losing and hated in that moment that she married one of her most formidable opponents.

Rachel clenched her hand into a fist. She wondered what she had been thinking when she decided to pursue a relationship with a woman who had always known exactly which points were her weakest. "There's not an explanation good enough to justify what either of us have done or the reasons for which we have done them. Our relationship has been based on insensible decisions."

Quinn turned back around to face Rachel. Nothing either of them had said had been untrue, at least not completely. They were each fucked up in their special little ways. "So how does this work out?" She didn't really want to argue and knew that Rachel didn't want to argue either, because despite the messiness that rested between them they had just bridged a physical gap that had been tearing them apart.

"It doesn't." Rachel unclenched her fist. "I'm not going to stop you from leaving. The idea of us being together has always been ridiculous. Can you imagine what our former classmates would say? Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray? Together? They'd laugh at the mere possibility."

"We aren't laughing," Quinn laid her unopened bottle of water on the nearest even surface and then took a step closer to Rachel. "And aren't walking away." When she was close enough, she pulled Rachel into her arms. Rachel's unopened bottle fell to the ground and Quinn felt Rachel's arms snake around her waist. "This is just you and me, Rachel. No one else is a part of this."

They couldn't let other people in. It had to be just the two of them. It was the only way that they could make it work. Otherwise, they'd say things that they didn't mean and they'd tear each other apart. They had somehow been designed to be the other's greatest weakness. The designations had been made when they were children growing up. It was kind of funny how destiny could be so harsh. Yet, it was kind of funny how it could be so damn patient and obvious, too.


	6. Chapter 6

A PERSONA OF A LIFE

She knows that other opportunities will eventually come their way, but she doesn't want to wait for what might come one day. There is an opportunity in front of them now and she doesn't want to pass it over. The script isn't perfect, but she knows that it can be reworked to be perfect. She only has to convince the right people to willingly participate in something that could very likely offer little recognition and even less payback. That's why she is convinced that the only way to push the project forward is to present a united front.

She is not naïve enough to believe that having her and her wife's name attached to the project is enough to get the ball rolling up the hill. It helps, of course it helps, but it is only the beginning in a very long process. They are in need of investors and there is only one person she knows that will be willing to even sit through a meeting with a bunch of no-name writers, producers, and an overly ambitious director.

She requests a meeting as a favor and is certain that she is treading into the territory of owing Leona Conroe her firstborn as payment. She knows that Conroe Productions has played a great role in her professional success and that of her wife's. If they lived in the time when actors and actresses were contractually aligned with only one Production Company then she would have crawled across broken glass to sign on with Conroe Productions. While it is true that the production company is not a powerhouse in the entertainment industry, it has managed to keep an impeccable record of commercial and monetary success.

That is why any hope they have of saving this project from stagnation will come from getting support from high places. She wants this to work. She wants it so bad because this is her chance to express certain things that are otherwise kept carefully barely hidden underneath the surface. She wants this because it will give her an opportunity that years of marriage have not given her.

"Leona will see you now." The voice pulls her out of her silent wishing and hoping. The moment has come too soon and she suddenly feels completely unprepared. Quinn is sitting next to her, but Isaias is running late. He got lost along the way and, in Rachel's mind, is as good as dead.

"Thank you," she stands and smiles at Leona's assistant. There is no time to wait on Isaias. Leona is meeting with them as a favor. There are people within Conroe Productions whose sole purpose in life is to screen scripts for Leona. It is a tedious job since there are so many playwrights, authors, and script writers in the world. Leona is often inundated by requests and Isaias's absence could almost be considered an insult.

"Relax," Quinn whispers into Rachel's ear as she stands. "Leona isn't going to say no because Isaias got lost."

Rachel nods, although she isn't completely certain that Leona won't hold Isaias's ill planning against them. Leona is often reasonable, but she also has a hint of unpredictability in her personality that Rachel freely admits has always been kind of attractive. She has known Leona for almost five years, and there is still a shroud of mystery that surrounds the woman.

They walk to Leona's office, not needing to be shown the way. They are familiar with the layout of the office. This is not their first visit with the producer, but it is the first visit they have made together. Nothing previously had ever given them reason to stroll through the halls side by side. Quinn had come for Dream Massacre and Rachel had come for the numerous plays she had done under Conroe Productions. It was sort of odd how often they had walked down the exact same halls, stood in the exact same places, but had never managed to be at any of those places together.

This was a first. Perhaps, this could even be a new precedent. It wasn't likely, but that didn't make it impossible.

Leona's door is open when they reach it. She motions for them to come inside and Quinn is mindful enough to close the door behind them. It is these kinds of meetings that cause rumors to start. One intern would speak to another, and then another to another and then the latest tabloid will boldly declare that Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry are in talks with Leona Conroe about taking over the world or some such nonsense.

Quinn thinks it's kind of amazing how it's managed to stay a secret that Leona is being introduced into Supergirl II as the new nemesis for Supergirl III. It's a huge secret and something being used more as a marketing tool than anything else. She and Leona are both under contract to keep silent about the whole thing until after the release of the second movie.

It will the first movie Leona has starred in for a few years. Quinn doesn't know how much Leona was offered to be involved in the Supergirl franchise, but she suspects it might be more than she is getting paid. Leona is expected to bring new life into the series, and her expertise isn't cheap.

"I thought I should be expecting three not two?" Leona asks as Rachel and Quinn take seats across from her.

"Isaias got lost," Rachel spits out as if the possibility of anyone not knowing their way is the most unheard of thing on the face of the planet.

"That's probably for the best." Leona leans back in her chair, her eyes travel across her guests and then focus on the bound papers on her desk. "I hate delivering bad news so I would much rather you do it."

Rachel admittedly feels the rush of rejection coursing through her. She had told herself that she would accept failure, but she is Rachel Berry and failure isn't something she has actually successfully accepted before. "You cannot miss out on this fantastic opportunity," she begins her defense. "Have you thought of the long term benefits instead of the short term losses?" As long as she keeps talking then Leona won't be able to complete committing homicide to Rachel's hope and the dashing of her dreams.

"We accept that the project needs work, but I promise that the effort will be worth it," Rachel reaches into the folder she has brought with her and starts pulling out papers. She has entered her numbers into a spreadsheet and has made a thorough proposal trying to cover any reason why Leona would tell her no. "I know that you carry a strong business mind, but sometimes you must approach things from a different perspective."

Leona sits and with a raised brow and a hint of a smirk, listens to Rachel ramble. She lets Rachel continue on. She doesn't interrupt and accepts the neatly put together proposal Rachel hands her. She forgoes her comments and eventually Quinn clues in on Leona's amusement.

Quinn takes it upon herself to silence Rachel's ramble by reaching out and placing a stilling hand on Rachel's arm. Rachel looks down at Quinn's trespassing appendage. She stops talking, remembering that Leona is not a person she should ramble around. Leona will let her speak her way into her own grave without warning.

"Are you done?" Leona asks a hint of amusement can be heard in her voice.

Rachel nods and Quinn keeps her hand lying on Rachel's arm just in case Rachel loses all control again. The touch is casual, but intimate. It's not something that goes unnoticed.

"This is what I'm willing to do," Leona leans forward and rests her elbows on her desk. "I'll buy the script rights from Isaias, but I don't want him to have any actual say so on how this project proceeds."

"But this is his," Quinn finally extinguishes her silence. "He's the reason we're all here together."

"Isaias was the right person to bring this thing this far, but he can't push it the rest of the way." Leona's eyes travel to Quinn's hand. "There are certain factors that he might not account for."

Quinn slowly pulls her hand away from Rachel. Rachel doesn't move. "I don't see why that would be an issue," Quinn sits up straighter and is preparing for a battle.

"Let us speak in hypotheticals okay? Because I don't know and am not asking to know about your relationship with each other, but let's move forward on certain assumptions." Leona unflinchingly looks at them. She is skirting around definitive names but is not avoiding one issue that Rachel Berry had refused to fully account for.

"Let's assume that there are certain personal life issues that need to be handled with a certain expertise so that the wide world doesn't learn more than is willing to be shared. Isaias isn't an expert in that and quite frankly very few people are. You're asking me to invest in something that could very well turn into one big media mockery and I much rather be holding the reins personally."

"We're adults," Rachel quickly tries to mount a defense. "We can handle this."

"Have you read the script? Do you honestly believe that you could play lovers on screen and no one clue into the possibility of what might be really happening behind closed doors?" Leona is unforgiving.

"We've managed thus far," Quinn has a feeling that this battle was lost long before Rachel ever begged for Leona to consider becoming involved in this project.

Leona shrugs. "Fair enough, but please do me a favor. Give yourselves a week. Talk about it. Ask yourselves if you really believe this persona of life you lead can stay the same after you make a movie about two women who fuck each other." She leans back, relishing in her inevitable victory. "Now, we both know that this story is much more involved than that one little detail, but if this spins off in the wrong direction that's all it will be. So, what do you think Isaias would enjoy more? His work being told in the right affective way or his work being overshadowed by two actors who mistakenly believe that one tiny aspect of their lives could be maintained when perhaps it is a thing they might not even know they still wish to keep hidden."

A LIFE APART

Rachel watched helplessly as Quinn entered the airport to take the last flight out back to Los Angeles. They hadn't finished the beginnings of a long overdue conversation about how exactly they were going to continue on as a married couple, but time didn't permit them the luxury of staying in the same city together for more than a couple of days. Conversations that deserved their undivided attention were only halfway discussed. The important conversations came to a "sort of" conclusion that left them satisfied enough to safely leave each other again.

It wasn't the best of arrangements, but Rachel didn't quite know if fixing this glaring issue with their relationship would benefit either one of them. So far, their marriage had only asked of them to suffer through a bit of emotional turmoil,l it hadn't really demanded sacrifice. Neither of them had yet to give up anything.

Rachel had her fancy apartment in New York and Quinn had hers in Los Angeles. Rachel had her contract with Conroe Productions and Quinn had the freedom to commit to any project she chose. Rachel had her group of friends that sometimes questioned why she no longer dated like she once had, and Quinn had her acquaintances that only sometimes mentioned that she had been celibate for too long. Rachel had her life, and Quinn had hers.

These lives didn't intermingle or complicate the other. They stayed separate. Apart. Not discussed, not sacrificed, and not even compromised. And Rachel knew that the minute she started trying to fix this thing that was halfway broken that she would have to give up just as much as Quinn.

Their up and coming career status would slow down and perhaps for one of them be put on hold. That of course depended on whether Rachel was willing to move to Los Angeles or whether Quinn would relocate to New York. Rachel had no desire to leave the stage, at least not yet, and she suspected that Quinn had no desire to try and find a home on Broadway.

Quinn had more fame, though, at least at the moment. Her signing on to do Supergirl had put her on tentative A-list status, so that reasoned to mean that she would be the better choice to let her career take a backseat to their marriage. It was also possible, however, that if Quinn didn't capitalize on the opportunities that were currently being handed to her then she could fall into oblivion where no one remembered her name.

Of course, Rachel firmly believed that the work she did on Broadway was more socially relevant than Quinn being thrown around on some wires in front of a green screen pretending to save the planet from some fiend's dastardly plans. Rachel knew that her performances had the ability to change lives, while Quinn's performance was a safe bet that would entertain the mindless masses and uncultured segment of the population.

No matter how much sense it made for Quinn to begin the sacrificing, Rachel couldn't bring herself to start making any demands because she was unwilling to compromise, and god damn it she loved Quinn. She was in love with Quinn. It was a type of love she hadn't really experienced before.

It wasn't something she could control. She couldn't bend it to her will and manipulate it so that it fit into her life in a nice little slot etched out and marked 'love'. The emotion was overwhelming and she didn't have a viable outlet for release. She didn't speak to her friends about it. She didn't tell her family about her impromptu marriage. She couldn't even talk to her wife about it because that would mean they would have to actually come to an agreed upon conclusion about their future.

All Rachel had was this emotion that pulsed through every segment of her body and prevented her from selfishly demanding Quinn forfeit a future for the sake of Rachel's. The whole concept of remaining passive went against most of Rachel's ingrained personality, but…

She would let Quinn get on her plane. She would remain silent as Quinn flew around the world and walked down red carpets hand in hand with strangers. She would even sit on the sidelines she so deplored and cheer Quinn on without trying to stand in the spotlight.

Rachel sighed and then looked down at her watch. If she stood any longer at the passenger drop-off staring at the airport entrance then she would be late for rehearsal. She sighed again, more dramatically that time and then got back into the taxicab. The driver had had the meter running the entire time. Rachel decided it was an accurate metaphor about time ticking away, or perhaps it served as a warning. Either way, she chose to ignore it, because she wasn't ready for whatever was coming next.

So, she sat in silence during the ride and when she reached the theatre she focused her attention on her job. She forced her wife out of her mind and continued on with her life as if she hadn't shared every moment in the last seventy-two hours with the woman she had married. She was her normal everyday self and decided to not put a name to the ache she was feeling inside that let her know something wasn't quite right anymore, something/someone was missing.

She pushed it all away and when the cast decided to have an impromptu gathering at one of the lighting assistant's apartment she agreed to tag along. They hung out and drank and someone bothered to cook. They talked about their high hopes for the upcoming production and about how Leona Conroe scared the hell out of the majority of them.

Eventually, the television got turned on and someone turned it to an entertainment news program. When Rachel looked at the screen she saw her wife walking down the red carpet at the premiere of Supergirl. She looked beautiful and elegant as she answered questions about the film the world had so anticipated.

"She's hot," Mark, a member of the cast said as he sipped on his beer. "Makes me want to go see the movie."

"I'm kind of thinking she's going to be a one hit wonder," Natalie, another cast member replied. "It doesn't take much talent to be Supergirl".

"Yeah well, I'd like to hit that wonder hole," Mark lewdly responded.

Natalie picked up a beer cap and threw it at him. "You're disgusting. She's a person you asshole."

Mark laughed and shrugged. "Well, she's also running around in a skin tight outfit and she's hot."

Natalie rolled her eyes. "You're still an asshole."

"Come on." Mark turned his attention to Rachel. "You get what I'm sayin' right, Rachel?"

Rachel's heart sped up. She was hoping to not be pulled into the conversation. She hadn't had to directly comment about Quinn Fabray since they had been married. "I don't see why my opinion carries any merit," she decided to say. "Quinn is very much classic Hollywood. She belongs there."

"You sound as if you know her," Natalie perceptively commented.

Rachel eyes flickered from the television screen to Natalie and then back again. She cleared her throat. "I do. We went to high school together."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Mark quickly apologized. "I didn't know the two of you were friends."

"We're not," Rachel hurriedly replied. "We've never been friends. We just grew up together."

"In that case," Mark grinned, "maybe you can hook me up with her."

Rachel swallowed. "No," she softly replied, "I don't think that would be possible." She quickly stood. "If you'll excuse me."

Rachel hurriedly exited the apartment. She could hear Natalie chastising Mark as she walked away. Rachel kept walking until she found herself at her own apartment. She robotically opened her front door and then stepped into the emptiness of her own little world.

Quinn had just been there that morning. They had just made love all over the living room no more than ten hours ago. Yet, within that short space of time that had elapsed Quinn had returned to Los Angeles and was experiencing something so wonderfully amazing. Quinn was all the way across the country and living her own extraordinary life.

The tears came suddenly upon Rachel. She didn't feel them trekking down her cheeks until the moisture hit her hand. She didn't know what this life apart really felt like until that moment, or perhaps she had just been ignoring it. Theirs was a broken marriage, built on a broken foundation.

Rachel's mobile phone began to ring pulling Rachel out of her sudden misery. She wiped away her tears before pulling it out of her pocket. She looked at the screen before answering it, surprised that she was seeing what she was seeing.

"Hello?" She answered; her voice was a little shaky.

"Are you crying?" Quinn's voice asked.

"Yes?"

"Well if you have been crying then why?" Quinn sounded worried.

"I think I have come upon the sudden realization that I miss you." Rachel wiped at her face with her free hand. She was being dramatic and she hadn't even meant to be.

"Oh," Quinn was absolutely bewildered.

"Aren't you at your premiere?" Rachel quickly changed the subject not wanting to dwell on this onslaught of emotion she hadn't at all prepared for.

"Yeah," Quinn softly replied. "I guess I sort of came upon the sudden realization that I miss you, too".

Neither of them said anything after that heartfelt admission. They stayed on the phone in complete silence until Quinn had to return to the premiere party. Once again, they parted without actually finishing a conversation that so desperately needed to be settled. They had just left it at accepting a life apart.


	7. Chapter 7

A LIFE TOGETHER

She feels that for the last few years she has been granted access to an all exclusive VIP party where she gets to stay up all night without suffering from the aftereffects of living in excess. But, she knew that if they pursued this whole thing with Isaias that she would finally wake up to the worst hangover she'd ever experienced in her life. She'd have to shake off the haze of the feel goodness and sink down into the murky waters of actuality. She knows that everything has an expiration date and that there are no exceptions. Some things are only meant to last a day, some a year, and others just short of forever.

She sits down at her laptop and opens up her web browser. She moves the cursor until it's benignly blinking in the box of her favorite Search Engine. Her hands hover over the keyboard, her fingers are shaking slightly, and she's unsure why self-torture is always her go to thing.

"Fuck it," she whispers as she lets her fingers touch the keys and then types out, 'Quinn Fabray'. Instantly, the engine returns over three million results. There are videos posted onto multiple media hosting sites. There's amateur speculation on group forums and even accredited news media outlets. Her 'secret' life is spread across millions of bytes of data distributed by a bunch of individuals she's never met.

It makes her feel like a Hollywood Whore, and it reminds her of why she decided in the very beginning to never Google her own fucking name. Unlike her wife, she isn't really a Media Darling. She never had that sort of star power. She operates as she has always operated. She is self-contained and in charge—humble of course, always aware of how much she doesn't deserve the things she's so graciously been handed and constantly fearful that they'll be snatched away. She is painfully aware that luck has controlled her life more than destiny, because she had been destined to stay in Ohio and live a life stuck on the wash, rinse, repeat cycle that her parents had laid out for her.

As she looks at her life written in mockery tagged as non-fiction and shaded under the umbrella of 'allegedly', she starts to believe that maybe her Ohio destiny is catching up with her. Her life has always been an American cliché—blonde, middle-class Christian upbringing, head cheerleader, popular, pregnant at sixteen, married to someone from her high school…

Leona had told them to take some time to think about their choice to push forward with a project that could expose things that always seem to be waiting to boil over like hot lava escaping the confines of a volcano. But, they had not taken time because Time, unfortunately, was not on their side. She had to get back to LA immediately after their meeting and Rachel had to get back to becoming a television superstar. Neither of them had paid attention to the tick, tick, ticking presence that had always been the soundtrack to their life together.

So instead of listening to Leona, they had given the situation an hour of their time and then had signed their contracts so that they could push forward, because they were pushers. Pushing forward was the only way they knew how to survive. They had always had to push forward from fear of what falling behind could mean. But now, she no longer believes she can do the movie, and it's not because she will feel bad about firing Isaias from his own creation. It's because everyone in the world has been let in on a secret Quinn thought she could outrun.

"Supergirl not a Supermom: Quinn Fabray's not your common Girl Next Door," she reads from one of the many, many headlines that obliterate her daughter's chance at anonymity.

She doesn't bother to read the article. She doubts it will tell her something she doesn't already know. It's not like it can enlighten her on how it felt to live through those precarious days of her youth. It didn't have the ability to acquaint her with exactly how much her life had been shredded to pieces when her parents ejected her from a cozy life into literal homelessness. Expecting it to convey anything meaningful is asking too much.

Her cell phone vibrates on her desk. It's been ringing every couple of minutes since the story was released a few short hours ago. She looks at the screen and then takes a deep breath before she answers it.

"Hey," she whispers with near tangible fear in her voice.

"We're going to sue," Rachel sounds more than angry, and her self-righteous anger calms something in Quinn. It pieces something broken back together again. "They had no right to do this," Rachel continues on, completely unaware of the resurrection she's just instigated. "I have people looking into who these so called 'sources' are. We'll make sure that no one so unscrupulous goes unpunished."

"Have you talked to…" Quinn still doesn't know exactly how Rachel prefers people refer to Shelby Corcoran, since Rachel's relationship with her biological mother has never been much more than casual. Shelby had come into Rachel's life too late to be a mother and too early to be a friend. Their relationship is stuck between complicated and confusing, and is something that has always been set aside as a problem to solve later when the problem could no longer be left unattended.

"We've spoken," Rachel fills in the blanks on her own, giving them a pass on trying to figure out which stepping stones are safe to navigate so that no new doors are opened to something that had long since been comfortably locked away.

"Spoken?" Quinn knows that her wife's succinct reply means that whatever was said between Shelby and Rachel was most likely not positive.

"She is, understandably, angry right now," this is an understatement and they both know it. Quinn has only talked to Shelby a handful of times. Their relationship isn't contentious, but they have never had reason to become close despite the ties that bind them together.

When Quinn was pregnant, she had decided to give her daughter up in a closed adoption as opposed to an open one. She had intended to close the door to the whole experience. She hadn't even been told who had adopted her biological child. Her daughter, her Beth, had been taken out of her arms and placed into, what she had been told was, a very loving home. That home had happened to be Shelby's, which was knowledge she hadn't gained until…later.

"I'll do whatever I can to protect Be-," the name dies before it escapes her lips. "I'll do what I can to protect her."

"I know you will, baby," Rachel's voice is soft and empathetic, but her empathy doesn't negate her warning, "but right now it is best you keep your distance. Beth is old enough to understand what's going on."

"I know that," Quinn snaps back. "I know how old my da-," again she trips over the important words. "I know how old she is." Beth is eleven years old as of just over a month ago. She is in the fifth grade. She is small for her age. She is precious. She is happy. She is… "I know," Quinn needlessly repeats.

"Shelby thinks it's impossible to compete with a mother who is Supergirl," Rachel breaks their unintended lapse into silence, but Rachel has always treated silence as if it were an enemy. "It's sort of amazing, you know, to be told that your biological mother is Supergirl. At least her peers won't have a lot of ammunition to tease her about it."

Quinn swallows. "Is she…teased normally?"

They don't normally talk about Beth, because Beth as a subject matter is awkward. They can talk about Quinn's pregnancy and the experiences therein, but those things are somehow divided from Beth as a living, breathing, person.

"You want her to be popular," Rachel deciphers. "Like you were."

Quinn brings her feet up onto her chair and then tucks her knees up under her chin. "I want her to be happy."

"Quinn, you know that it is possible to be unpopular and happy, don't you?" Rachel's question is unfortunately genuine, as if she somehow has access to Quinn's broken pieces that have been mended but not completely healed.

"Some things aren't worth knowing," Quinn confesses as she is punished by flashbacks from her youth.

"It's different for her," Rachel keeps her tone soft. "She's…" This time Rachel gets stuck on the important words.

Quinn laughs self-deprecatingly as she finishes Rachel's unspoken thought. "She's not me."

"You know that isn't how I meant it," Rachel's voice is no longer being filtered through Quinn's phone. It has become live and in person, but Quinn doesn't uncurl herself so she can seek whatever could be found in Rachel's embrace.

"Well," Quinn looks unblinkingly at her laptop screen, "I said it exactly how I meant it."

Rachel moves closer and places her hands on Quinn's shoulders. "I see you in her."

"Well…" Quinn finally blinks. "Whatever."

Rachel's arms slide down Quinn's shoulders to wrap Quinn in a flimsy embrace from behind. "I know it's too soon to ask, but do you know what you're going to do? We have to make a move soon before all of this gets out of hand."

Quinn pulls away. She jumps up from her seat. "And by 'get out of hand' do you mean before everyone starts figuring out that Shelby is your mother?"

"I think I have a right to be concerned," Rachel says slowly. "You're not the only one involved in this."

Quinn crosses her arms and dips her head so that she is staring at the floor. "Are you seriously going to make this about you?"

"No," Rachel steps closer. "No, I'm not." She sighs. "But the only reason anyone figured this out at all is because of those stupid rumors going on about us being mortal enemies. Someone went digging and found something. We can't assume that they or others won't dig up anything else."

Her gaze stays focused on the floor. "Call me crazy, but I'd really like a moment to just kind of process that Be…" she silently curses herself. Why can't she say her daughter's fucking name? "This is…I just need some time."

"Beth," Rachel whispers the name.

Her head shoots up. "What?" She sounds defeated because she knows Rachel is going to force this issue. Their past experiences do not allow them to be on common ground.

"You should be able to say her name if you're going to be integrated into her life," Rachel says evenly keeping her tone calm.

"Integrated?" Quinn questions, thrown aback by how absurd the word is. "Who said anything about being integrated?"

"Are you going to just let her know who you are without ever talking to her?" Rachel's body stiffens. Her posture is defensive. This is not a conversation they should have. Quinn knows she should just walk away. "Don't you think," Rachel continues before Quinn can make an escape, "that Beth deserves to get some questions answered?"

"And what could I tell her that's worth knowing?" Quinn finds a wall and then leans against it. The nearest chair is closest to Rachel and Quinn doesn't want to trespass into enemy territory. "This isn't like what happened between you and Shelby, Rach. For better or worse," Quinn helplessly shrugs, "B-Beth was a mistake that I couldn't deal with. You really think she needs to hear that?"

"She needs to hear something," Rachel argues. "You can't just leave her alone with this."

"She's not alone." Quinn runs her hand through her long hair. She can feel her anger building but doesn't want to let it loose on her wife. "She has Shelby…and you."

Through Rachel's pursuit to have some sort of relationship with her biological mother, a relationship with Beth has happened collaterally. It's a relationship Quinn and Rachel don't mention. It isn't a part of their life together. It is something that Rachel has done on her own without Quinn's input or explicit approval.

"We should really talk about these things more often," Rachel whispers almost to herself. "How can you believe that I can maintain a relationship with Beth under these circumstances? Do you think it's easy to look at Beth and keep my silence about the origins of her birth?" She doesn't give Quinn a chance to respond before she continues. "I want to tell her everything about you, Quinn. I want to tell you everything about her. But I've kept my silence because in some cases I've learned that ignorance is the better choice. However, silence is no longer a viable option. She knows that you and I are friends. She'll have questions and I won't lie to her."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "So now you suddenly have a problem with being a liar?" She scoffs. "Now? This just happen in the last ten minutes?"

"Don't be facetious," Rachel orders. "There's no room for it in this conversation."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Shove off it, Berry. You damn well know that you and I are nothing but really good liars."

Rachel straightens her shirt though it is not in any state of disarray. "Obviously, for now you are done with this conversation."

Yes, Quinn silently agrees, she is done with the conversation. She still feels a sense of shock over the whole thing. She's not sure when her brain will begin properly coping with this new thing in her life that she has to face.

She harshly rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands thinking that maybe she can magically rub away the day. Maybe, when she opens her eyes, things will be as they were this morning. She and Rachel will be waking up together, curled around each other so tightly that nothing could be put between them. Once they left the bed, they would share a shower and then coffee. Rachel would once again begin rambling excitedly about finally getting a chance to work together. She will even suggest they begin reading through their lines immediately.

"Stop," Rachel softly orders as her hands grip onto Quinn's wrists.

Quinn allows Rachel to pull her hands away from her face. She opens her eyes and within moments her eyes refocus and she is looking into the same eyes she woke up to this morning. She briefly wonders if it's insane to already have a wave of nostalgia wash over her for something that transpired less than eight hours ago.

"I always sort of thought," Quinn confesses, "that our marriage would be our big reveal. It's the one thing I didn't want to have to share. I never thought about Beth."

Rachel's grip on Quinn's wrists loosens. Her fingers trail up Quinn's arms until she is holding her wife securely in her arms. This time she doesn't break their silence, even though Quinn wishes that Rachel will push her into another argument. She wants a reason to withdraw from her wife, because she's feeling too guilty at being relieved that their life together has not been interrupted.

Their relationship was still theirs and theirs alone, for now…as always, was just for now.

MOTHER KNOWS BEST

Quinn hadn't been back in Lima, Ohio for the holidays since she had lived there. She hadn't exactly wanted to go back to celebrate the time with her family, but Rachel was going to visit her parents and had somehow gotten Quinn to promise to tag along. It would have been odd for Quinn to stay with Rachel, considering no one knew of their recent nuptials, so Quinn had forced herself to stay with her mother and had made promises to visit her father.

She had just suffered through a meal with her mother, stepfather, and her stepbrother whom she quite literally just met. She was more than ready to escape the house, and was getting ready to do just that when her mother cornered her at the foot of the stairs.

"Quinn," her mother called to her, "are you going out?"

Quinn looked down at herself. She was wearing a jacket. She had her shoes on. The rental car keys were in her hand and she was on the phone having just uttered the phrase, 'I'll be there in fifteen minutes'. Her eyes traveled to her mother. She sighed into the phone. "Berry, I'll call you back."

"Please hurry, Baby" Rachel pleaded through the phone. "When I set up the Glee reunion I was expecting to not have to go through it alone."

"I know, I know," Quinn replied. "I'm on my way." Rachel had been freaking about the reunion since she had ridiculously set it up. Quinn hadn't wanted to travel down any memory lanes while in town. She had only wanted to steal moments away with her wife so that they didn't have to be apart for the holiday. Rachel had wanted to take their trip as an opportunity to meet up with old friends and had insisted that Quinn be at her side for all of it.

Quinn dropped her phone from her face and then hung up. She looked at her mother expectantly. "What is it, Mother?"

"I'm not going to ask you to stay," her mother held up a placating hand. "Never mind that we were going to sit down as a family and watch It's a Wonderful Life."

"As a family?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, as a family, Quinn." Her mother snapped back. "Believe it or not, your absence did not make this family disappear."

So, life went on. This wasn't news to Quinn. It was actually what she had been hoping for since the moment she had left Lima when she was eighteen. She hadn't wanted to ruin any lives and hadn't expected her parents to mourn her absence every second of every day. She had wanted them to continue on with their lives so that she was free to continue on with hers guilt and worry free.

"Good." Quinn moved to step around her mother, but was cut off from making an exit.

"Take Scott with you," her mother requested.

Quinn chuckled. "No, thank you." She had no interest in dragging her stepbrother with her anywhere. Besides, after she and Rachel finished with their Glee club reunion she was hoping to spend some alone time with her wife. She didn't want to hang out with some high school kid.

"Jesus Christ, Quinn," Judy hissed exasperated. "I get it, alright? I was not the best mother to you. I made mistakes that I can't make up for, but I'm not asking you to do anything but take Scott out with you."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Why is it so important he come with me?"

"Because he doesn't deserve your hatred." Judy took a step back giving Quinn the room she needed to make her way out of the house.

Quinn shook her head and then stepped past her mother. She found Scott in the living room sitting with his father. "Hey, Scott," she interrupted them. "I'm going to meet up with some friends. You want to come along?"

"Uh," Scott looked around seeking out a reason for the impromptu invitation. "Sure."

"I'll go heat up the car," Quinn offered and then hurriedly left the house. She made her way to her rental car and then quickly got inside. She thought about calling Rachel, but she didn't feel like explaining anything that had just happened especially since she didn't fully understand what had transpired.

She put the key in the ignition and hadn't gotten a chance to start the engine before Scott was running out of the house and towards her. She seriously had no idea why her mother thought it was so important she spend time with someone she probably wouldn't be seeing very often.

Scott pulled open the passenger side door and then dropped down into the car. He smiled nervously at her and then put on his seatbelt. Quinn shook her head and then started up the engine. She pulled the car out of the drive and focused on driving instead of the person sitting next to her.

"So," she decided to speak since the silence was starting to annoy her. She had been around her wife too much. "you're a Junior, right?"

Scott nervously rubbed his hands along his thighs. "Yeah. I'm even in Glee club. Mom uh…" he stumbled over his words catching himself as if he had made a mistake. "Your mom said that Mr. Schuester was in charge of New Directions when you were in school."

Suddenly, Quinn felt very old. It had only been five years since she had graduated from high school, but sitting next to Scott made her feel as if her high school years were a lifetime ago. "He was," Quinn replied unnecessarily. "He's a good teacher."

"He's helped me out a lot," Scott's words were hurried. He sounded as if he was rushing to get something said before time ran out. "Mom…" Again he tripped over the words. "Your mom," he corrected himself, "said you might be able to help me, too."

"You know, I really don't care if you call my mother 'Mom'," Quinn said, doing her best to bite back her annoyance. "I don't know what stories you've been told," she added, "but I'm not crazy jealous that she's a mother to you."

Scott dipped his head. "Was she really that bad to you?"

Quinn let out a sardonic chuckle. "I guess that's a matter of personal opinion."

Scott nodded as if he understood, but Quinn decided he didn't understand anything at all. But, she didn't need him to understand. She pulled the car into Rachel's parents' driveway. The ride was over. "So what's your story, Scott?" Quinn finally asked, hoping to get the whole point of him tagging along. She wanted the conversation over before she walked in to see her wife. "Why does my mother think I can help you?"

"I don't want to be a Lima Loser," he hurriedly answered. "I'm a closeted gay kid in Lima, Ohio." He helplessly shrugged. "You're the only one I know that has escaped."

She couldn't help herself. She laughed. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.

Scott looked around making sure that Quinn wasn't talking to someone else. "I'm not joking," he replied.

Before she could say anything else, her car door was being flung open and she was attacked by one of her high school mistakes, Noah Puckerman. He managed to unbuckle her seatbelt and then gathered her up and slung her over his shoulder.

"Put me down, Puck!" Quinn screamed.

"Make me, Supergirl," Noah challenged.

Quinn tried to free herself from his hold but only managed in tripping him and they both fell onto the snow covered ground. Quinn's screaming had brought the others out from Rachel's parents' home. Quinn took a look around, her eyes landed on faces she hadn't seen for years.

"Welcome home, Quinn," Noah said as he offered her a hand up.

She stared at him for a moment, not trusting that he wouldn't throw her back down onto the snow. "Thanks," she eventually took his hand. He pulled her up and into a tight hug. She hesitated a moment before she returned it, not really comfortable yet with being thrown back into all the things she had been running from.

"What is Rachel blackmailing you with to get you here?" A voice asked, pulling Quinn and Noah apart.

Quinn stepped away from Noah and looked around him so that she could get a clear visual of Santana who stood with her arms crossed in front of her, disapproval written clear on her face. "Maybe I just thought it was time to come back?"

Santana raised a disbelieving brow. "Yeah, right. She's got something on you."

Just because Santana was right, didn't mean Quinn had to admit it. "It's good to see you too, Santana."

"That your boy toy in the car?" Noah cut in, breaking the ongoing standoff between Santana and Quinn.

"No," Quinn stepped away from Noah and Santana, "that's my stepbrother, Scott." She walked back to her car and dipped her head down so that she could look at Scott who was still sitting in the car. "You can get out," she told him. "No reason for you to sit out here all night."

She didn't wait for him to respond. She turned back around and then walked towards the house. She was first met by Brittany who eagerly embraced her and whispered, "I'm glad your dad is okay."

"Thanks," Quinn replied, feeling suddenly guilty that she had been in town for two days and still hadn't called her father.

She pulled away from Brittany, but before she could greet anyone else Rachel was by her side. "You're wet," Rachel pointed out. "You should come inside and dry off."

Unsure of how she should respond, Quinn dumbly stood staring at her wife. If they were in New York or Los Angeles then she would have gladly taken Rachel's suggestion and dragged Rachel inside with her, but they weren't in New York nor were they in Los Angeles. They were in Lima, Ohio and in Lima, Ohio Quinn wasn't at all sure what Rachel was supposed to mean to her.

"I'll show you to the restroom." Rachel took Quinn by the hand and then led her inside. Quinn waved as she passed by the familiar faces, but wasn't able to do much more.

Rachel took Quinn to the upstairs restroom. She walked into the small space with her, and then closed and locked the door behind them. "I'm beginning to think this might have been a bad idea," Rachel confessed as she pushed her body into Quinn's. Their arms wrapped around each other and they each breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I'll stop myself from saying, 'I told you so'," Quinn said and then leaned down and placed a kiss on Rachel's forehead.

"Hmm," Rachel moaned. "Why is your stepbrother here?"

"My mother wanted to get Scott and me alone together," Quinn explained. "He's gay and looking for his Golden Ticket out of Lima. Apparently, my mother must think I'm an expert at that sort of thing." Since her mother had no clue about any of the women Quinn had been with, she assumed her mother thought her an expert at getting out of Lima. It was too much to consider that Judy might consider Quinn an expert at keeping one's sexuality hidden away.

"Next year," Rachel mumbled into Quinn's chest, "I promise that we can stay away from Lima."

"Thank you," Quinn muttered.

Rachel removed herself from Quinn's hold. She straightened out her clothes and then looked at her wife for a long moment. "I'll get you another shirt."

"It's not going to have an animal on it, is it?" Quinn quipped, pulling out a barb from their adolescence when Quinn would too often make fun of Rachel's wardrobe.

Rachel grinned. "I'm sure I could find one especially for you."

"What have I done to deserve this torture?" Quinn jokingly asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Rachel's voice turned serious. "You married me." She finished and then hurried out of the restroom not giving Quinn a chance to reply. When she returned a couple of minutes later, she threw a shirt at Quinn and then went back downstairs.

Quinn changed her shirt and then gave herself a quick pep talk in the mirror before she went to rejoin the party. She greeted Mercedes, Finn, Artie and Sam upon her return. They all sat in the living room and talked as if meeting up was an every other weekend occurrence. For them, it seemed as if the years hadn't separated them at all, and Quinn realized she was far removed from every single one of them.

They had all stayed in Lima, but she and Rachel had left. They couldn't ask specific questions about their friends' lives, because they wouldn't know what to ask. They moved on as they had always said they would.

"You're kind of quiet," Sam whispered to Quinn tearing her attention from a story Noah was telling about his work.

"Am I supposed to be loud?" Quinn asked.

"No," Sam shook his head. "I just thought you'd have more to say. You've been gone the longest."

Quinn looked over the man who she had shared a teenage love affair with. "I'm famous now," Quinn shrugged. "There really isn't much else to say." There wasn't much else she wanted to say.

Sam laughed. "You really haven't changed that much, Quinn."

Quinn wasn't sure if he was complimenting or chastising her, and she wasn't sure that it mattered.

"Would you like something more to drink?" Rachel cut into their conversation giving Quinn a chance at escape.

"No, I think we're good," Sam answered for the both of them.

"Quinn?" Rachel made sure to ask her wife directly. "Do you want more to drink?"

"Where's Scott?" Quinn looked around suddenly deciding that she was tired of acting out the same part she always acted out when she was in Lima. She didn't have to always revert to that survival instinct that came over her when she came back home. She could actually be the woman she had become after she had left.

"He's talking with Noah." Rachel motioned across the room. "I've done my best to make him feel welcomed."

Quinn reached up and caressed Rachel's arm. "Thanks," she said sincerely and then broke apart from her wife and away from Sam. She made her away across the living room until she was standing in Scott's personal space. Once he registered her presence, she took him by the hand and then led him away. She took him upstairs to Rachel's room and made sure to close the door behind her.

Scott opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn held off his words with a raised palm. "Please don't start talking," she requested. "I think I'm only strong enough to do this once." She lowered her hand and turned so that she wasn't facing him. She didn't want to have to actually look at him as she spoke.

She swallowed a couple of times before she felt like her throat would actually let words pass. "The only thing that got me through the nightmare of adolescence were my friends, my faith, glee, and my determination to one day leave Lima behind. So find the things that you can hold onto, and don't push them away because I kind of did that and now I have burned bridges I don't know how to rebuild."

"What bridges?"

Quinn turned to look at the boy sitting on her wife's childhood bed. This was all very surreal. "It's not important. What's important is that you've got a mother who is determined not to make the same mistake twice."

"But if my Dad found out," Scott interjected, "he'd lose it, like totally lose it."

Quinn stilled her movements. She looked directly into Scott's frightened green eyes and told him the biggest lie she'd ever told anyone. "I know my mother, Scott. It may not seem like it, but I do and I know what she was like when I moved back in with her after that whole…incident, and trust me when I tell you that she will not turn her back on you. You'll always always have a home with her."

"Do you really think so?"

Scott sounded so hopeful so she continued to lie. "Yes, I really think so."

He nodded as if she reaffirmed something he had been questioning. "Mom said you could also introduce me to Rachel's dads."

Quinn suspected this was the real reason for her mother's request that Scott take part in the glee reunion. It made more sense now. Her mother hadn't expected much from her. Quinn wasn't sure why she suddenly felt a little disappointed.

"Of course I can, but I'm sure Rach already has that covered." Quinn forced herself to smile. "She's probably the one you really wanted to meet, right?" She made her words sound like a joke, though she wasn't really kidding.

Scott broke out into a huge smile. "Am I not hiding it well?"

"No," she grinned, "you're doing a great job." She felt compelled to admit to him that she knew Rachel better than anyone else in the house. She wanted to brag that Rachel would, at times, sing only to her. She wanted to confess that if she had never left Lima then she probably would have never made Rachel Berry her wife.

"Do you think she'll sing tonight?"

Quinn chuckled. "I'd be surprised if she didn't."

"Awesome!" Scott's worries had erased from his face. He looked better than he had when Quinn had first met him. She was sure that it wouldn't last, but she was glad that he had a chance to look like a normal teenager instead of a weighed down mirror of herself at his age.

There was a knock on the door and then Rachel came barreling through without waiting for permission to enter. "Get your coats on," she ordered, "we've all decided to go caroling."

"Really?" Scott jumped up. "You'll let me sing with you?"

"I don't see why you couldn't." Rachel looked to Quinn. "He's not breaking curfew is he?"

"It's eight-thirty, Rach." Quinn stepped away from her stepbrother. "I think he's safe."

"In that case," Rachel told Scott, "we'll meet you downstairs."

Scott looked between the two of them unsure. He knew he was being dismissed, but was uncertain about being alone downstairs with people he didn't really know. "You sure?"

"We'll be down in a sec," Quinn replied offering no excuses or explanations for why she and Rachel wished to be alone.

Scott looked between them again, hesitated for another moment, and then walked out of the room closing the door behind him. Quinn watched him depart, glad to be free from his presence. He reminded her of too many things she had spent near a lifetime avoiding.

"So what's it like being a big sister?" Rachel asked as she wrapped an arm around Quinn's waist.

"It's hard to imagine," Quinn confessed. "I don't know him at all, yet I get it, you know? I get everything about him."

"What do you mean?"

Quinn stared at the closed door. "He's a football player, Rach. He's popular and he's doing everything he can to make sure that no one sees him for who he really is."

"He'll be fine, Quinn," Rachel offered. "My dads will look after him."

Quinn sighed. "So will my mother, I think." She snorted. "Can you believe she wanted me to introduce him to your family? That's why he's here. This is the only way she thought I could help him."

"Quinn..." Rachel looked up into her wife's eyes. "Things with your mother can get better."

"No," Quinn shook her head, "I don't think so. Being a mother has never been a Fabray strong suit."

"Quinn," Rachel tried again, but Quinn silenced her with a soft brush of lips against hers.

"Let's go caroling," Quinn said as she pulled away. "I believe we have a reunion to get back to."

They left Rachel's room and then went back downstairs to join their former classmates. It would have been easy for them to fall back into old roles, but this time they refrained. They acted as if they were friends as if they actually knew each other. They talked with the others about the time they had spent together in New York and Los Angeles. They made a decision to at least carry part of their life together into their old ones. Every one of their friends still had each other and all they had was each other. Neither of them was willing to throw that away because they were supposed to have been long lost enemies.


	8. Chapter 8

AND PLAYING THE ROLE AS…

She's been standing in front of the award's case for near fifteen minutes reliving the history of each award. She is of course very proud of her Tonys. Those are her childhood dreams come true and her vindication for all that's come to pass over the years. She's earned three of them and covets each one. Yet, as she stands in front of her tangible evidence that dreams do come true, she can't help but realize that she is unexpectedly proudest of the Oscar that she possesses but didn't even win.

Quinn Fabray's name is etched into the plate but the award has been in Rachel's possession since the moment Quinn won it. When Quinn walked by the award's case, she hardly ever paid attention to this extraordinary thing she had managed to accomplish. She didn't stand in front of it and ponder the achievement. She walked past it as if it didn't exist.

Quinn doesn't have an award's case. Her accolades and honors are hidden and packed away so that no one can see them and so that no one can acknowledge them. Quinn doesn't want people pointing them out. She wants to hide her successes away, and no matter their years together Rachel doesn't understand Quinn's need to hide away the good things.

She has, of course, asked her wife about it but has never been given a satisfactory answer. Rachel is sure that if Quinn had possession of the Oscar then it would be stuffed into the back of a coat closet tarnished and forgotten. She cannot change Quinn's silly reaction to proper recognition, but Rachel can be proud of her wife. She can carry the pride around with her and hold it tight so that it carries both of them through these moments where the world is looking to tear them down.

Rachel has her vindication and her pride. These are her only means of offense and defense. Everything else seems to have been slowly stripped away.

"Ms. Berry?" A voice calls out from behind her. "We're ready if you are."

Rachel takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it. Her eyes roam over the awards again, lingering on the Oscar.

"Ms. Berry?" The voice asks again, sounding unsure as if some holy moment is being interrupted.

"Of course," she says as she plasters a smile on her face. "Of course." She turns to face the man who is calling for her. He's wearing a headset and she thinks she remembers his name being Robert or Richard or Ryan, just something starting with an R.

"Good, Penelope is waiting for you," he says clearly relieved that Rachel isn't going to start throwing a fit about something. Along with everyone involved, he knows that this interview could turn into a disaster at any moment. The network is lucky to have snatched it up and his producers have given him personal warnings that no one, absolutely no one is to scare Rachel Berry out of snagging them the interview of the decade. "Is there anything you need, Ms. Berry?"

Rachel looks him over; sickly satisfied that he is so nervous. She is doing this interview free of charge and likes the fact that the people around her have been told to cower. This is a big deal and she wants it treated as such. She would have preferred to be interviewed by someone like Barbara Walters, but she is fairly certain that Ms. Walters won't come out of retirement for this.

"I'm fine," she replies as she walks past him.

They have chosen to set up in front of the bay windows located in her dining room. The crew arrived an hour before Penelope, which had irritated Rachel since she had expected Penelope to show up when everyone else had. She had wanted them to discuss the questions that had been agreed on, but she had been assured by the producer that there would be no surprises.

So instead of harassing her interviewer, she had gone upstairs to her bedroom and prepared. She rehearsed her answers to her pre-approved questions and had convinced herself once more that she was doing the right thing. When that didn't work, she convinced herself that she was doing the best thing since what was right was sort of murky and could be left up to interpretation.

When she reaches the dining room she is directed to a chair and immediately sits. Make-up artist comes to touch-up her face. The director starts talking and she replies automatically trying to focus on the familiar things around her instead of the fact that she's about to confess things about her life that she never intended on sharing with anyone but her wife.

Before she realizes it, the camera is rolling and she's looking into Penelope's ambitious green eyes.

"Rachel," Penelope begins, "it's been a busy year for you. Did you ever expect that you would be here today?"

"I'm not an oracle," Rachel replies, "I couldn't have even begun to guess at which turns my life would take, but I had always hoped that I would end up on Broadway."

"And you've accomplished that and so much more." Penelope smiles pleasantly and crosses her legs. She's warming up to the harder questions and Rachel suddenly feels as if this is a complete waste of time.

"But this interview isn't really about my successes is it?" Rachel says, going off script. "If it were then your network would have interviewed me months ago."

Penelope's eyes quickly shift to her producer and then just as quickly back to Rachel. "Then, Rachel, please tell us what this interview is about?"

"Quinn Fabray," Rachel whispers. "It's funny how some things never change," she chuckles. "When we were in high school things had a way of being about her, too."

"You sound bitter about that," Penelope points out. "It's been reported that you and Quinn Fabray were adversarial in high school. Do you both still hold grudges?"

Rachel's eyes drop to her lap. "No," she softly replies. "We're long past that."

"A lot of people say that your friendship is a reuse," Penelope is quick to add. "You've played nice before for the Greater Good, as some would call it."

Rachel's head snaps up. "Greater Good?" She questions. "What Greater Good?"

Penelope shifts uncomfortably, obviously not expecting Rachel's response. "Well for your adopted sister's sake of course," she clarifies.

"Oh," Rachel smirks. "I think maybe you give Quinn and me too much credit. We met again after many years and just…connected in a way we either weren't willing to or were incapable of doing in high school. My adopted sister had very little to do with it."

"Your voice changes when you say Quinn's name," Penelope astutely notes. "You must care deeply for her."

Rachel has not blindly set anything up. She has not rushed to action. Everything is planned, and she reminds herself of this as the cameras around her film. "It's quite amazing really." She forces herself to meet Penelope's eyes. "We misunderstood each other for so long, and then flash forward a few years and we're the only ones that really understands the other."

Penelope tilts her head, seeking out the meaning behind Rachel's words. "What do you mean?"

Rachel smiles. "It's quite simple really, logical even. We were born and raised in the same town. We both left home at a fairly young age to seek out something more than what home could offer. So, we understand each other's histories and we understand what the other's been through in the present." With explanations so succinct it all seems terribly incomplex. It dismisses the years of finding common ground in their marriage. It dismisses the half truths that they continuously tell. It eradicates just how in love they are.

"So you're friends?" Penelope asks as if she understands she is now being fed another half truth.

"Friends," Rachel confirms. "Hopefully lifelong friends."

Penelope looks down at her notes, searching for some safe topic to bring up so that she doesn't ask a question she knows she won't get an answer to. "Where does your adopted sister fit into all this?"

Adopted Sister: Beth was not to be referred to by name. It is a demand Rachel made before signing off on their agreement for her to go through the interview. Beth is supposed to be protected. She was never supposed to be exposed in the first place.

"She fits wherever it is she wants to fit," Rachel answers, her protective anger rising. "That is up to her and her mother."

"Mother?" Penelope latches onto the word. "Quinn Fabray?"

Rachel nods once. "I suppose Quinn will have some say, but she is not my adopted sister's mother."

"Oh yes of course, I'm sorry," Penelope says falsely apologetic. "Shelby Corcoran is her mother, but as I understand it Shelby is also your mother."

This, Rachel only wants to keep to herself. She rather not let the world in on something that she has not yet managed to resolve. When it comes right down to it, her relationship with Shelby is no one else's business, but her strategy is sound. It is a simple act of bait and switch—replace one scandal with another. Turn the focus from Beth and Quinn to her and Shelby, add in the scandal of Shelby adopting Beth and it made for one huge batch of paparazzi heaven, and then sprinkle in some ambiguity about her relationship with Quinn and somehow they make all the cameras turn away from Beth.

Rachel stills her movement. "Shelby is my biological mother."

"Isn't this a little weird for you?" Penelope tries to sound sympathetic. "Your biological mother adopted your best friend's biological daughter. That's hardly common."

"I suppose it could be weird—as you say—if I let it, but I don't. Shelby gave my parents a gift by having me and Shelby has given my adopted sister a great home to grow up and thrive in." Rachel shifts, leaning forward slightly. "I actually think it's a little ridiculous that people have been so eager to judge the fringe facts that they have been given without bothering to consider that all this about is love and selflessness."

"Love?" Penelope looks as if she doesn't buy it. "How so?"

"Shelby offered to be a surrogate for my fathers so that they could share their love with a child. Quinn did what she did because she wanted her daughter to have a better chance at life. She loved her that much." Rachel leans in just a bit further. "Why is that weird? Why is that worthy of judgment?"

Penelope nods, at a loss for a follow up question. She knows that if she continues pushing that she will look like an ass and she doesn't need public opinion turning against her. Rachel Berry had a lot of public sympathy and Penelope knew she couldn't push too hard. She suspects that Rachel's public support is part of the reason Rachel is doing this interview instead of Quinn Fabray.

Quinn is seen more as an Ice Queen and would be much easier to push for answers, but Quinn has kept her distance. Her representatives released a statement saying that she fully supports Rachel's choice to do an interview, but Quinn remains hidden away.

"Why don't we cut for a few?" The director announces as Penelope's silence lasts too long. "We can start back up in fifteen minutes."

Rachel silently revels in her victory. "That sounds great to me." She stands up pulling the microphone they've hooked up on her away. She hands it to one of the people surrounding her and then walks away.

Penelope watches her leave, unhappy that this is turning into another boring interview that won't garner the attention she wants from it. Nothing juicy is being admitted to. The big scandal is being de-scandalized. They are being outmaneuvered.

Rachel looks over her shoulder at Penelope and Mike, the producer, huddled together whispering. She knows that they are not getting what they came for. She turns back around and then continues on to the staircase. She walks upstairs to the bedroom. She opens the door and smiles when she sees Quinn stretched out on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

"Is it over already?" She asks, not bothering to sit up.

"It soon will be," Rachel replies as she approaches the bed. "I think they're going to leave here disappointed."

"Good." Quinn reaches out for her wife. "Then I can finally leave this room."

Rachel clasps Quinn's hand in her own. When she reaches the edge of the bed she climbs onto it and straddles her wife. "You could come downstairs now."

Quinn raises her brow. "I could?"

"Yes, you could," Rachel answers. She looks down at her wife, bringing their joined hands to Quinn's chest. "We are not prisoners in our own home."

They have so carefully kept these things separate that her request is an invitation to blur a line they so tactfully etched out years ago, but, Rachel suddenly realizes, she doesn't want to go back downstairs alone. She wants to feel her wife's physical support in the room without an entire floor separating them. This whole situation is happening to both of them and she doesn't want to act like she is handling it alone, even though they both know she is strong enough to.

Rachel wonders, what's the point in trying to be strong alone when her wife is right here? "Come downstairs with me," she whispers.

Quinn lies still for several moments. She doesn't breath, doesn't speak, doesn't blink but Rachel can tell that Quinn's mind is moving faster than the speed of light. Rachel is tempted to retreat and withdraw her request. She doesn't want to pull her wife into an argument that neither of them are ready for.

"Go down first," Quinn eventually says. "Give me a minute."

Rachel doesn't move. She still wants to retract her words. She wants to tell Quinn to nevermind and that she'll handle everything on her own. She's already won the day it isn't necessary Quinn make an appearance and gives that damn Penelope a morsel of juicy gossip. Penelope won't be able to comment about it publicly of course, but she could say things behind closed doors that would cause more problems.

If Quinn came downstairs they could be setting themselves up for something that would only sell them out. It's risky. It's stupid. It's…pointless.

"I'll see you downstairs," Rachel eventually replies and then leans down and kisses her wife. When she leans up, she removes herself from atop Quinn. She gets up off the bed and then makes her way to the door. She looks back at Quinn and they look at each other, silently seeking out whether one of them will call the retreat but neither of them does.

Rachel opens the door and then walks through it. She walks back downstairs and walks back to the false smiles and fake happiness that is being put on display for her. They are ready to begin again. Penelope looks less frustrated and seems resigned to the little trap she's fallen into.

Before Rachel takes her place back in the chair opposite Penelope, she can feel the attention of the room leave her. Eyes look behind her to the cool breeze walking into their midst. She turns around to look at her wife. Quinn has quickly brushed her hair, but looks as casual as anyone would look while walking through their own home. She is wearing torn jeans, a gray v-neck t-shirt, and has forgone shoes.

Rachel grins, knowing she should have expected for Quinn to overdue how blasé this whole thing is supposed to look. Still, Rachel can't help but look at Quinn and grow just a bit weak. Her wife is beautiful.

Quinn moves through the room, acknowledging the people around her but doesn't stop to make conversation. She only stops once she is standing directly behind Rachel. With hesitation only Rachel can see, Quinn wraps her arms around Rachel from behind. She pulls Rachel to her and leans down and whispers loud enough for the entire room to hear, "Are you almost done?"

Rachel stiffens at her wife's contact, but quickly relaxes. This had been what she was asking for upstairs, hadn't it? "Yeah, Baby," Rachel says meeting Quinn's tone, "we're almost done."

"Good," Quinn replies, kisses Rachel's neck and then steps away.

Rachel takes a deep breath and then on unsteady legs takes the seat she vacated fifteen minutes ago. Every eye in the room is bouncing back and forth between her and Quinn. Rachel kind of thinks it a bit of a shame that this momentous occasion is being wasted on this small group of people she doesn't know.

Quinn slides into place next to the crew. She takes a protective stance, ready to defend against any questions or comments that might come around. Rachel watches as the crew give Quinn her space. She smiles and then turns her attention back to Penelope. "Now," she says as she brushes at her clothes, "where were we?"

SANTA FE

Rachel hadn't immediately known about her adopted sister. She, of course, had known that Shelby had adopted a baby girl, but hadn't known much more than that. She hadn't asked questions and hadn't really wanted to know anything more. It was sort of pathetic to be jealous of a girl sixteen years younger than her, but she couldn't help it. Rachel was jealous of Beth Corcoran since Beth was being given the chance to have Shelby as a mother from the beginning of life.

Still, it was Mother's Day and Shelby was the only mother that Rachel had. That's why she had the brilliant idea of flying Shelby and Beth out to New York so that she could sort of force Shelby to see her on Broadway. It was a backhanded gift to be sure, but Rachel still wanted her mother to see her on stage even if she had to force the issue.

Shelby had been reluctant to agree at first, but had quickly given in under Rachel's pressuring. Rachel had prepared everything. She wanted everything to be perfect. It was going to be special no matter what and was meant to bridge the gap that had existed between her and Shelby since Shelby had left Lima.

Rachel met Shelby and Beth at the airport. She had rented a limousine to give Shelby the Star Treatment and had insisted that Shelby and Beth stay with her. She showed off her home, her awards, her city and made no apologies for it.

"I'm proud of you, Rachel," Shelby finally said after Beth had settled in for the night. "Beth thinks this is a present for her. She's been dying to meet you."

"I'm happy she's enjoying it," Rachel replied. "It's good to have you both here."

Shelby sighed and took a look around. "I should have come earlier," she confessed. "I didn't mean to just disappear on you."

"Don't be silly," Rachel waved away Shelby's words but only because she didn't want to bring the kind of negativity that subject would bring into the perfect moments she had planned. "Let's just be happy that you're here now."

Shelby nodded and then they settled down into easier conversation. Rachel spoke about all of her successes and all of her awards. She talked about the Broadway shows she had been in, the ones she was supposed to be in and the one she was currently headlining.

"And what about love," Shelby eventually asked as Rachel's self-boasting ended.

"Love?" Rachel asked as if she didn't completely understand what Shelby was asking. "What about it?"

"Love, Rachel," Shelby smirked. "You do know what that is, right?"

"I do," Rachel replied, "but I've of course been too busy for a relationship." It was a lie, and if Shelby had known Rachel better than she would have seen through her daughter's untruth.

"I think everything you've accomplished is…" Shelby was fishing for the right word, "I think it's wonderful, but I don't want you to end up like me, Rachel."

"I don't think that's possible." Rachel looked away from Shelby.

"Okay," Shelby gave in. She didn't want to push a conversation she had no real right to have with Rachel, but she couldn't help but notice that when she looked around at all Rachel had accomplished that it all seemed kind of…vacant. When she looked at the pictures Rachel had hanging on her walls they were mostly of Rachel at parties, clipped from the headlines, and on stage. "Please, just remember that's there is more to life than awards, and being a superstar."

Rachel was equal parts affronted and pleased that Shelby took such a personal interest in her life. Her parents had of course always been interested. Her dads came to every new production. They scrapbooked every little article ever written about her and screamed from the mountaintops that Rachel Berry was their daughter. They were beyond supportive and she loved them for it.

Still, she was happy that Shelby had bothered to pay attention as well.

"I know that there's more to life," Rachel assured Shelby. "I'm still learning it, but I know."

Shelby ran an inquisitive look over her daughter eventually satisfied with whatever her perusal had garnered. "Okay."

Rachel was about to say something else when her phone began ringing. She reached over to pick up the cordless phone from the stand on the end table. She read the caller ID and then happily answered it.

"How's the master plan working out?" Quinn asked without preamble.

"I'll call you back," Rachel replied, not completely aware she was smiling so widely.

"Take it easy on them, okay?" Quinn pleaded. "Not everyone is as good at absorbing your craziness like I am."

Rachel laughed softly. "I'll call you back," she repeated.

"Would it be inappropriate for me to mention phone sex right now?" Quinn joked.

Rachel forced herself not to blush. She knew that Quinn was getting her back for last week when Quinn had been on the phone with her manager and Rachel had been running heated hands against heated flesh. The memory of it pushed past Rachel's defenses and she began blushing.

"Thanks for letting me know that," Rachel tried to cover. "I'll get back to you with an answer."

"I love it when you blush," Quinn flirted and then hung up.

Rachel had an urge to wipe at her face after she hung up the phone, but resisted. When she gathered enough courage to look back at Shelby she saw that her mother was wearing an all-knowing smirk.

"I'd like to meet whoever that was," Shelby said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Who?" Rachel asked still gaining back her composure.

"The person on the other end of the phone that could make you blush like that," Shelby clarified. "They must be someone really special. I'd like to meet them."

"Maybe one day," Rachel acquiesced. "So how is Beth doing?" She quickly changed the subject. "She's just started school, yes?"

Shelby allowed the conversation change and they sat talking for another hour. They separated to go to sleep and as Rachel laid down she felt that things were going perfectly. She was proud of herself for extending her hand to Shelby and bringing her mother and Beth into her home.

The regret didn't come until the next morning. She woke early to cook Shelby and Beth breakfast. Beth had woken up first and Rachel had enlisted Beth's help to finish preparing the meal. Beth had eagerly agreed. It was awkward for Rachel, at first, to spend time alone with her adopted sister without Shelby to act as a filter, but Rachel had managed. She had even enjoyed Beth's company.

"So tell me about Santa Fe?" For reasons Rachel didn't understand, Shelby had decided to pack up her bags and move to sunny Santa Fe after adopting Beth.

"It's not like here," Beth answered. "There's more space."

"Do you not like New York?" Rachel asked, not being able to imagine living anywhere else but New York. She'd had fallen in love with the city long before she had moved there.

Beth shrugged. "I like where you live," she mumbled. "Things look bigger."

Rachel laughed softly. "I suppose they do."

Beth continued helping Rachel setting the table, not saying anything else. She was a quiet girl, Rachel noticed and shy in ways Rachel could never recall herself being. Yet, there was something so similar about Beth. Rachel supposed that had something to do with Shelby.

"I'm done," Beth announced after she had laid out all the plates. "What else do you need me to do?"

Rachel looked into Beth's bright brown eyes and replied. "Why don't you go wake up your mom?"

Beth narrowed her eyes. "Isn't she your mom, too?"

Rachel was thrown back by the question. She didn't know how much Shelby had shared with Beth about their history and didn't want to overstep her bounds, but she figured Beth did have a right to know the truth. "Shelby is my biological mother, yes," Rachel answered. "But she isn't a mom to me like she is to you."

"Oh." Beth looked as if she were contemplating the greatest mystery in the world. Her eyes were so expressive and belied vulnerability that Rachel felt was terribly familiar. "Does that make you sad?"

"Wow," Rachel was caught off guard, "why do you ask that?"

Beth looked down at her feet. "I don't know."

Rachel looked over the little girl standing in front of her. Beth's blonde hair fell across her face blocking out her eyes. Rachel took a step closer to her adopted sister and then reached out and brushed Beth's hair away. Beth looked up at her and suddenly Rachel's mind exploded with recognition. "Beth," Rachel whispered, "Beth."

"What?" Beth asked.

Rachel blinked a few times, she suddenly felt out of breath. "Do you know what makes me sad?" Rachel brushed her fingers down Beth's cheek. "I've missed out on getting to know you."

"You get to know me now," Beth eagerly offered. "You can visit us in Santa Fe and you can come to school with me."

"I'd like that," Rachel said and then cleared her throat. "Now, why don't you go wake up Shelby. The food is going to get cold."

"Okay," Beth agreed and then hurried off to her mother. As soon as she disappeared out of the kitchen, Rachel fell against the table. She covered her mouth with her right hand and she gasped for air. She swore she had just been looking into her wife's eyes.

"Beth," Rachel said again. Beth. Quinn's daughter, Beth. It seemed like such an impossibility, but the closer she looked the clearer it became. Beth had Quinn's eyes. When Beth smiled she smiled Quinn's smile. When Beth narrowed her eyes in thought, it was Quinn's expression. It was almost as if Noah Puckerman's genes had been completely overshadowed by Quinn's. Beth didn't look much like her father at all.

Rachel had the sudden urge to pick up her phone and call her wife, but she held back. This wasn't a conversation she thought they should have over the phone and it was something Rachel wasn't even sure Quinn would want to know. Quinn never spoke about Beth, not really. She had talked about her teen pregnancy, but only as it related to other events in her youth. If Quinn ever wondered what had happened to her first born, she had kept it to herself.

"Beth tells me she invited you to visit us in Santa Fe," Shelby said as she came into the kitchen. "We'd be glad to have you come."

Rachel pushed herself away from the table. She smiled and pushed her recent discovery to the back of her mind. She went through the motions of eating breakfast with her mother and her wife's biological daughter and then went through the pre-planned itinerary for the weekend. She took Shelby and Beth on a tour of the theatre and then through the sights to see in New York.

When it came time for them to leave, she thanked them for coming and made promises to see them soon. After they disappeared into the airport she quickly made her way home. Once there, she paced throughout her living room and kitchen trying to imagine what Quinn would want to know.

During their adolescence Rachel had overstepped her bounds when it came to Quinn's pregnancy and was loath to do so again, but in the end she couldn't quite talk herself out of it. She made her decision selfishly, much like she had the first time around. Though, the first time the reasons had been vastly different. Back then, she had wanted to ruin Quinn's relationship with her boyfriend. She had wanted to steal him away from Quinn and a part of her had truly thought that she was doing the right thing.

This time, her reason was simply that she didn't think she'd be able to live with such a big secret standing between her and her wife. So, she picked up her phone, dialed Quinn's number and waited for her wife to answer. She hadn't wanted to do this on the phone, but she wanted it over with so that she didn't have it resting on her conscience for longer than necessary. It couldn't have waited to be done in person.

"Hey," Quinn answered, "You must have just dropped Shelby and Beth off at the airport. I didn't think you'd be calling so soon."

"Neither did I," Rachel mumbled. "I want to ask you something?"

"Is everything okay?" Quinn immediately asked with worry in her voice. "Did something happen?"

Rachel ignored Quinn's question, determined to plow through with her own questions before she chickened out. "Do you ever think about what happened to your daughter?"

Silence. And then, "Did something happen between you and Shelby?"

It was a logical assumption, wrong but logical. "No," Rachel replied too quickly and too loudly her nervousness was completely out of control.

"I hope you don't expect me to believe you," Quinn's voice brooked no room for argument. "Rach, just tell me what's wrong."

"Beth is your Beth," Rachel blurted out.

"My Beth?" Quinn questioned sounding clearly confused. "My Beth what? Sweetie, we've talked about this before. You need to speak in full sentences."

Rachel knew that Quinn was too smart to sound that stupid. The joke was a defense. Having let the secret out, Rachel felt worse than before. "Shelby adopted your daughter," Rachel clarified; her voice was drained of the nervousness that had been fueling her and had been replaced with fear.

"Okay," Quinn drew out the word and then fell silent. Rachel bit back anything she wanted to say and waited for her wife to say something else. It took almost a full five minutes until Quinn softly asked, "Do you plan on seeing them again?"

"Yes," Rachel replied just as softly, "I do."

Quinn sighed. "Do you plan on telling anyone else about this?"

Rachel thought about it, giving the question the consideration that it deserved. Would she be compelled to talk to her fathers about it? Would she feel the need to notify Noah and let him know where his daughter ended up? He had just as much of a right to know about his daughter as Quinn, didn't he? The mother was no more important than the father, Quinn just happened to be more important to Rachel.

Rachel licked her lips and then bit her bottom lip. Eventually she answered, "No, this isn't my secret to tell."

"You told me," Quinn quickly pointed out.

"I couldn't hide it from you," Rachel just as quickly responded. "Do you wish I had?" She asked already regretting her selfishness.

"I don't know yet," Quinn suddenly sounded worn out as if she had just run a mile and tripped a few times before reaching the finish line.

Rachel knew that this was too important a conversation to have over the phone and damned her impatience. This had not been a time sensitive issue. Rachel could have waited twenty days—she could have waited twenty years even—before telling.

"I'm sorry," Rachel again blurted out words before they had even been fully formed in her mind.

"Don't be sorry," Quinn didn't sound any less tired. "I don't want you to have to keep anything from me."

Rachel wanted to reach out and grab a hold of her wife, but that was impossible. She couldn't even book a last minute flight out to Los Angeles because of her work obligations. She dumped this overwhelming news on Quinn and had to leave Quinn to deal with it on her own. "I'm sorry," Rachel apologized again.

Quinn didn't dismiss the apology again. Rachel suspected that Quinn understood she was apologizing for something different that time. "I have to get back on set," Quinn said after another bout of silence. "We'll talk later."

"I love you, Baby," Rachel desperately confessed.

She could hear Quinn take in a deep breath before saying, "I love you, too, Berry," and then hung up.

After hanging up the phone, Rachel reached up and brushed her hand across her face surprised to find her cheeks moist with tears she hadn't completely realized she had shed. This had been too important a thing to regret. It was unfair that what was right and what was best seemed so damn unclear.


	9. Chapter 9

CLIMAX

She knows that small victories are the only victories that really count. Wars are won through a series of small conquests. It is the grandiose victories that always fizzle out quickly after the repercussive affect of impact. They expend endurance and don't leave enough strength to finish out the war. So, she must consider that her name being printed in shocking bold large font on various magazines, websites, newspapers, and blogs one small victory. The content of the articles are completely ridiculous, of course, but still, she believes these ridiculous rumors must be a mark made in her favor.

The general public's talk seems to have shifted to a price she is willing to pay, her daughter is safe again, mostly forgotten by the world, and she and Rachel maintain their privacy under the more entertaining rumors of an illicit affair carrying on during the filming of one of the most anticipated films of the coming year. The debate whether these articles hold any truth has fallen into 'are they/aren't they' arguments that she will not participate in. She only wishes that this victory didn't feel so much like a fucking loss.

But, this is not the time nor is it the place for her to stare blankly at nothing thinking about the unpaved road her life is traveling on. She has her silent passenger—work—to keep her busy. She is under contractual obligations that give her reason to walk around in public with her chin held high as if her life continues to be unaffected by the fictional musings that are translated into speculative facts. She'd be laughing if she weren't too afraid that the laughter would die down and leave room for tears.

"No one can keep a secret forever."

The words pull her back into the moment. She looks over into alluring gray eyes, letting herself fall into them. "What makes you think I have a secret?" She asks, forcing herself to back away so that she doesn't fall into comfort's trap.

"Darling," the woman across from her raises a brow, "we all have secrets. Some of them are small and practically worthless while others," she leans in as if she is about to unleash a torrent of temptation upon a willing victim. "Others," she repeats, "are what keep this dull little bit of life worth living."

She swallows feeling the need to break away from the temptress in front of her, but she doesn't want to show how affected she has become by the woman who makes her question the very things she has always believed in. "What kind of secrets are you hiding?"

The woman softly laughs and backs away taking temptation with her. What once was there is completely gone, magically dispersed leaving the room's occupants to suffer from withdraws. "Well my dear, dear friend," the woman replies, "my secrets are my own."

She still has not broken eye contact with her adversarial friend. She is too entranced and too stubborn to look away. Yet, she feels her footing begin to slip off of a proverbial cliff. She is beginning to fall into the unknown and is too proud to yell out for help.

"Cut!" The director yells, ending the standoff between the two actresses in front of him. "That was good but let's go ahead and do it again. Pull back on the sensuality a bit Conroe, remember we want this to be PG-13."

The crew and staff laugh at his comment. They've all stood around in rapt attention watching Quinn Fabray act out her scene with Leona Conroe. Rumor has quickly spread throughout the studio that the two actresses set fire to all around with the explosive energy that flows between them. As far as archenemies went, Leona was proving to be the best yet. The studio executives were so thrilled with her performance that they rewrote much of Supergirl III to better suit the talents of the actresses playing the leads.

They've expanded the scope of the film so that it is now about Supergirl's tryst with the darker side of her powers. She discovers that she was originally sent to Earth to destroy Kal-El, Superman, as an elaborate revenge plot manufactured by her father. Leona's character, a wealthy business mogul with mystical powers helps Supergirl discover the secret with plans to use Supergirl for her own nefarious purposes. It is all very dramatic and promises to bring in billions of dollars in profits.

Quinn knows she should be thrilled at the prospect of this upcoming success, but she only wishes for this whole thing to end. She is tired of looking around at the people surrounding her and not trusting a single one. She is more than aware that the rumors that she reads on the front pages of websites and sees as the top stories on entertainment news television comes from those who have access to the studio. They are the ones that have turned fiction into fact and without her consent are making her suffer from the consequences of their words.

Rachel has suggested that they take a vacation as soon as filming is over and Quinn is almost ready to be talked into it. Rachel has also suggested that they invite Shelby Corcoran and Beth to join them, a suggestion Quinn refuses to actively consider. She can think of nothing worse than a 'family' vacation especially since she still hasn't yet discovered a way to communicate with Beth. She has attempted email, text messages, and phone calls but always fails to hit send after the words are composed or the numbers dialed.

"Okay!" The director yells, grabbing Quinn's attention once more. "Action!"

Quinn shakes her head briefly and then runs through the scene again with her costar. This time through, Leona tones down on her subtextual eroticism and within the hour they are done shooting for the day. Their audience disperses and Leona and Quinn are left alone to transform back into the real life versions of themselves. The makeup is wiped away and the costumes are put aside.

By chance, they end up walking out of the studio side by side and Quinn imagines someone hiding in a corner with their cell phone out ready to take their picture and then immediately post it to the internet. The individual will be famous for a moment for providing circumstantial evidence that the Leona Conroe and the Quinn Fabray are indeed carrying on an affair on set proof being that they walked out of the studio at the same time.

"You look nervous," Leona comments as they pass through the doors.

Quinn wishes, not for the first time, that she were as resilient as Leona. She wishes that she could really believe her self-told lies about how well this whole rumor mill is working out for her. She wishes that she were happy about Beth being forgotten and she wishes that the brief rumors that spread about Rachel and her being in a relationship didn't evaporate so quickly. She wishes, but her wishes don't do much to change reality. For whatever reason, people wish to believe that Quinn Fabray and Leona Conroe are lovers because apparently it is a story more worth hearing than a boring overdone love story about high school classmates reconnecting after years of separation.

"It's not nerves," Quinn mutters as she looks around seeking out the mole that is set to betray her privacy this time.

Leona reaches out and gently grabs onto Quinn's arm. Quinn forces her muscles still so that she doesn't jump away from Leona as if her arm has been struck by an iron rod.

Leona smirks, her eyes showing understanding beyond the words either of them has spoken. "You're tense," she states, as she releases her hold on Quinn. "Are you not getting the release you need at home? Superstar is still here in New York, right?"

Quinn's eyes widen, caught off guard by the sheer…camaraderie Leona has eased into. They are not friends. Quinn doesn't feel it's a possibility since Leona has so often been an authority figure throughout her career. Quinn hadn't even been completely on board with the idea of Leona filling the role in the next Supergirl movie because she was uncertain that she could convincingly act opposite Leona. Her uncertainty remains, but she figures that it is an insecurity that will exist until Leona lets loose some bit of imperfection.

"Rachel's show is on hiatus," Quinn answers, unwilling to continue with the joke Leona has begun. "She's reviewing some scripts she's been sent."

"So she's sitting at home waiting for you to show up?" Leona interprets and Quinn can't quite figure out if Leona is just being nice by trying to maintain a conversation or has a hidden agenda. Knowing Leona, Quinn thinks she can safely assume that Leona has something planned.

"She is," Quinn cautiously replies.

"Good," Leona smiles, "I guess that means that you are both free to accompany me to dinner. I grow so awfully lonely being single and unattached."

"You are?" Quinn questions. She has never thought of Leona as lonely since the woman rarely hints at having any sort of personal life at all.

"Call your woman," Leona orders, "you can tell her to dress attractively. I know you'll enjoy it."

Quinn thinks of all the reasons why she should refuse, but as is common, Leona has caught Quinn off guard. "I'm not really dressed to go out, Leona," Quinn tries for an excuse.

Leona's eyes roam over Quinn and when they are done Quinn can't tell whether Leona approves or not. "No, you'll do," she decides. "Call Rachel and tell her to meet us at my restaurant."

"Your restaurant?" Quinn now more than ever wants to refuse, realizing that Leona is creating a recipe for attention. Leona's restaurant is newly opened and is the new, New York hotspot. It is swarming with paparazzi and is not a destination for anyone who wishes to maintain privacy or anonymity.

Leona meets Quinn's eyes and immediately Quinn knows she has lost this battle. So, she pulls out her phone and presses the speed dial for her wife's cell phone. As the call goes through and begins to ring, she silently hopes that Rachel doesn't answer. She wants to go home and maintain her habit of becoming a recluse.

"I'm glad you called," Rachel answers, leaving no more for mundane pleasantries. "I have chosen several vacation destinations that you need to review. I assume you're shooting late tonight again. Would you like me to email them to you so we can begin the elimination process?"

Before Quinn can reply, her phone is whisked out of her grasp by Leona's quick reflexes. Quinn helplessly stands and listens as Leona makes plans with Rachel cutting off Quinn's chance at escape.

"You didn't trust me," Quinn whines after Leona ends the call and hands the phone back.

"I trust you to try and get out of sharing a meal with me," Leona honestly answers.

Quinn sighs, resigning herself to her current fate. "I feel like I'm being called into Coach Sylvester's office."

Leona cocks her eyebrow. "Is that a reference I'm supposed to understand?"

Quinn softly laughs. "No," she shakes her head, "I guess not."

"Well then, 'I guess' you should fill in the blanks for me." Leona reaches out again and grabs onto Quinn's arm. This time, Quinn doesn't mind Leona's attention as much. Instead, she falls back into memories of her youth that comfort her more than she ever thought they would.

"Sue Sylvester was my high school cheerleading coach," Quinn explains. "And is…well, almost indescribable."

"Ah, so you were a high school cheerleader. How very cliché of you." Leona leads Quinn further into the parking lot. "So why is this cheerleading coach so indescribable?"

Quinn allows herself to be led realizing that she is being pulled towards Leona's car. "She's the kind of person that is a living breathing caricature and makes no apologies for who she is, no matter how insane she acts."

They reach Leona's car and Leona is kind enough to pull the passenger side door open for Quinn. "And I remind you of her?" Leona leans onto the car door, her expression bordering on offense.

"Whatever you're setting us up for," Quinn steps towards Leona ignoring the open car door, "do you plan on apologizing for it later?"

All pretenses between them disappear. The fake offense Leona drew up vanishes and Quinn feels that Leona has finally stopped acting. Only now does Quinn feel secure enough to ask, "What are you doing?"

Leona crosses her arms in front of her. "I'm tired of people asking me whether or not I'm fucking you, Quinn."

"I don't have anything to do with that," Quinn defends herself. "I didn't start the rumors."

"Consequences trickle down." Leona relaxes her body. She uncrosses her arms and shifts so that she is standing even closer to Quinn. "Don't get me wrong, I thrive under controversy. It's my element and is quite possibly the only reason why I'm still in this business, but I hate being made an accomplice without my consent."

Quinn opens her mouth to defend herself again, but Leona raises her hand and stays Quinn's words. "I understand," Leona whispers, "but you and Rachel should have approached me about this the minute people decided you and I made for the perfect It Hollywood couple."

Quinn knows that if her wife were present then Rachel would have something to say that made more sense than Quinn's impulse to start cursing and throwing out insults. She bites her tongue, knowing that any words she forms will jeopardize her career and her privacy since she doesn't stand on equal footing with Leona.

"Please, get in the car," Leona steps away, releasing Quinn from the confrontation that is quickly tumbling into another battle lost. "I promise to maintain stoic silence the whole way to the restaurant."

Unhappy and unwilling to hide it, Quinn slides into the passenger seat. She pulls on the seatbelt and ignores Leona as the other woman shuts the door. When Leona opens the driver's side door, Quinn continues to ignore Leona's presence. She refuses to look towards the one person in the world other than her wife, who knows the truth about what goes on behind the scenes.

When they arrive at Conroe, Leona's restaurant, the valet quickly attends to Leona and Quinn once again realizes just how inferior she is when standing alongside Leona's understated perfection. It's a bitter reminder since lately it seems all the world's eyes are focused on her and her private life. She is forgetting that there is a wider world outside of her existence, and is more upset at allowing herself to forget that fact than she is at being reminded of it. She has never vied to be the center of attention, and finds a single beat of relaxation in this moment where all eyes are on Leona and turned away from her—including hers.

She forces her eyes to tear away from Leona, and turns to see the flashing lights from the cameras that are taking her picture and collecting evidence of her having been in the same car alone with Leona Conroe. Pictures will be posted online within the hour. Comments will be made that she is the lucky one in this fictional relationship, the one who got moved up in the world.

She smiles for the cameras and even continues to smile as Leona makes her way around the car and then wraps an arm around Quinn's back. The contact is casual, nearing protective but it will be interpreted as a lover's embrace and will provide even more accelerant to the already blazing fire.

Leona guides them into the restaurant and then into the VIP area. They escape the cameras and the whispering people who will spread rumors farther than the eye can see. Quinn looks behind her as they escape the crowd, somewhat amazed at how quickly the entire restaurant's attention could shift to two women strolling through the aisles. When she turns around to the safety of the VIP room she sees Rachel approach. Her brain finally silences and she steps away from Leona and then wraps her arms around Rachel.

She falls into her oasis and blinks away the stresses of her day. She doesn't know quite when it happened, but she no longer likes her job. She doesn't want to be Supergirl. She doesn't want to be popular. She wants her wife in her arms and she wants them to live in a small town that even Google can't find.

"What's going on?" Rachel asks, her arms tightening around Quinn. "Is something wrong?"

"Her cup runneth over," Leona answers, though it is not her place to do so. Her eyes roam over the two women standing next to her, her face unreadable. "I'll order the food," she says and then turns and exits the space leaving Quinn and Rachel alone.

Rachel sighs, she has been expecting this. She has known her wife for longer than she has loved her. She has had the opportunity to observe Quinn from afar and from up close. Since everything with Beth had been released to the press, Quinn has been slowly crumbling under the pressure of trying to be perfectly unaware of the shit-storm pounding away at their lives.

"We can go away tonight," Rachel offers, "and catch a flight to anywhere."

Quinn pulls away from her wife. Earlier today, she pretended she had temptation standing in front of her, but now there is no pretending. Rachel is the most tempting offer she has ever been given. "I'm under contract," it is a weak defense, something easily solved by money.

"You know how important I believe it is to honor one's commitments," Rachel brushes her hand through Quinn's thick blonde hair, "but I think this time you should make an exception."

Is running away a battle won or a battle lost, Quinn wonders. "Leona yelled at me," she bemoans choosing to change the subject rather than give in to Rachel's offer at a temporary solution for a long term problem.

"What did she say?" Rachel's ire rises. She is ready to seek out Leona and avenge any actual or imagined transgressions if only so that she no longer feels helplessly immobile.

"She says she's suffering from the consequences of our decisions." Quinn sighs. "And she's right." The admission leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Leona has been right and too damn accommodating, lately. Quinn is beginning to feel that she owes Leona a debt larger than she's ever realized.

Rachel says nothing. She reaches out and pulls Quinn back towards her, but Quinn fights against another embrace very aware of the spies who might be documenting every public moment of her life.

"I love you," Quinn says as Rachel's eyes convey her hurt at being rejected. She grabs onto Rachel's hand and then pulls Rachel away from the comfortable seclusion of the VIP area. She is tired of living her life publicly.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks as Quinn pulls them through the crowded restaurant.

"Fuck Leona, we're going home," Quinn boldly declares. She refuses to be forced into a dinner she doesn't want to attend even if it leaves her debts unpaid and Leona alone to pay their consequences.

They are headed towards the front entrance and before Rachel can offer her protest they emerge into the open air hand in hand. Then, Quinn turns too quickly for Rachel to still her momentum. Their bodies run into each other and Quinn quickly wraps her arms around Rachel securing them both from falling.

It's a long moment before they separate.

"Take me home," Rachel demands as she pulls away.

Quinn nods, and then looks around them seeking out some form of transportation. She goes to the valet and is thankful that someone had the foresight to pull Rachel's car around. She snatches the keys from the valet and then jumps into the car. Rachel follows suit and quickly thereafter they are driving away from the crowd.

They ride in silence towards their home. Once there, they exit the car and then enter the house.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Quinn breathes heavily; having barely been able to rein in her need to give into the comfort only Rachel could offer her.

Rachel can't reply because true to her word, Quinn's lips have captured her own. Quinn keeps her eyes open for a moment, having half expected her wife to jump away from her advances, but Rachel doesn't hesitate. She returns Quinn's kiss, and Quinn's world fades to the pleasant sensations that come when her lips are pressed against Rachel's.

She moans.

It is a common reaction.

Her hands roam along Rachel's back.

Everything is all right.

Rachel's hands slide along Quinn's hips.

This is euphoria.

Quinn slides her hands under Rachel's clothes so that she can make contact with smooth warm skin. They pull apart long enough so that Quinn can remove Rachel's blouse and then her bra.

Quinn's lips glide against Rachel's bare shoulder down her spine until Quinn is on her knees.

More clothes are reverently removed until they both stand naked before each other.

"I'm going to kiss you," Quinn whispers against Rachel's stomach.

Again, Rachel has no time to respond before Quinn's lips are caressing her flesh. She can only spread her legs wider and revel in the sensations taking her over.

"I don't want to do anything but kiss you." Quinn's hands roam across Rachel's naked body. "Please," she pleads, "let me."

Rachel leans up, as much as she can with Quinn's body pressed against hers. "Baby," she whispers, "It doesn't have to be this way." They could change things and make them better. They could run away. Quinn could quit being Supergirl and Leona could keep her chastisements to herself.

Quinn shakes her head, "Not yet." She slides her body along Rachel's, not breaking contact.

Rachel wants to continue her protest, but her words won't make a difference. Quinn won't allow them to. So, she nods. "Kiss me," she demands.

Quinn rests her lips against Rachel's neck for a long moment and then mutters, "Thank you."

THE PERFECT FIT

Quinn rubbed at her eyes. When the action bore no benefit she began rubbing at her temples. She was trying to rub away a migraine that had started what seemed like weeks ago. Things had sort of just gone by too fast for her to realize how much every part of her hurt. She was having a miserable time. It was raining, the forecast predicted f more cold weather ahead, and she was sleeping alone.

Rachel was off touring the country wooing the hearts of Joe Shmo Public No Name while Quinn was stuck in the middle of nowhere filming a movie she was quickly regretting ever signing on to do. When it had been pitched to her, it had sounded intriguing and different, but now it only sounded stupid. She was beginning to doubt that a musical about addiction called Dream Massacre would be much of a success.

Besides, it had been years since she had sung anything for anyone else's benefit and she was beginning to think that she had once again overestimated her abilities. She seriously considered pulling out of the project, but she wasn't yet stupid enough to turn her back on an opportunity to do something outside of her acting plat du jour. This role was a challenge that she had accepted because—well because of Rachel. She wanted to be a part of something that Rachel could brag about to others and that she wouldn't have to defend against belittlement.

Quinn wanted to make Rachel proud, and she couldn't accomplish that if she quit. So, she suffered through doing a low budget film that had her out in the rain in the middle of the night. She'd dealt with not being able to eat so that she could better fit the appearance of an addict. She'd dealt with the pain raking her body from being repeatedly shoved to the cold hard ground by the stuntmen playing the demons that were supposed to walk alongside her.

She'd dealt with it all without protest and silently shouldered her burdens. It was the only way Quinn knew how to deal with anything.

Thinking a distraction might take away at least some of the pain, Quinn turned on the television. She shuffled through the channels until she unexpectedly saw her wife's face on screen. Rachel was on stage, she was always on stage, and was giving an interview about the success of her first Broadway tour. She looked happy, content, and completely in her element. The sun was shining and everyone that surrounded her looked overly jolly.

"She's such a dork," Quinn muttered as she turned up the volume. Rachel was answering a question about how well the cast got along. She claimed that she was best friends with the second female lead, which Quinn knew was an outright lie. The two women couldn't stand each other, but they had good stage chemistry so Rachel hadn't tried to get her costar fired.

Quinn continued to watch the interview until her moment of retreat was interrupted by a knock at her motel room door and a harried voice telling her they were ready to begin filming again.

"I'll be out in a sec." Quinn wanted to finish watching the interview. This was the closest she'd come to actually talking to Rachel in almost a week. They were in different countries, different time zones, and—judging by how happy Rachel appeared on stage—they were in different states of mind.

The interview ended too quickly, and then Quinn eased out of the chair she had carefully sunk down into what seemed like less than two minutes prior. Her muscles protested, but she managed to stand without groaning too much. She had been promised that this was her last scene in the wet, wintery, uncomfortable conditions since everything left to be shot was about the character's time in Hell.

She didn't bother to grab her jacket since she knew she wouldn't be able to wear it on set. She opened the door and then nodded at the director's assistant who had been asked to fetch her. Together they walked back towards the set conveniently located less than a mile away from the middle of nowhere motel that they had holed up in.

If she hadn't been in the process of filming a movie, Quinn might have felt like she was acting out a scene in the beginnings of a B rated horror flick.

"Where's your coat?" Ann Sanders, the director asked as Quinn made it to the set. "I don't think you getting pneumonia is in our budget."

"Thanks for your concern," Quinn joked.

"Think nothing of it," Ann quipped. "But seriously, get a coat on or something. I really don't want Leona Conroe giving me another call because or lead ended up in the hospital."

"Conroe called you?" Quinn had heard rumors about Leona checking up on their progress. Conroe Productions had taken a big risk in backing the film, and it seemed that Leona was micromanaging from afar. Most everyone on set thought that they were going to be shut down at any moment.

Quinn doubted that Leona would pull the plug, but she still was very aware of what a phone call from the president of Conroe Productions meant. Ann had assured everyone that Leona only called when absolutely necessary. Each call had resulted in script changes that most everyone could admit were necessary and at times improved upon the original.

"She called," Ann sighed. "We lost rights to the previous song for this scene so we're switching things up."

Quinn's eyes widened. "Tell me you're joking."

Ann shook her head. "Nope. It's a shit situation and now we have to deal with it. On the plus side she authorized for us to spend another fifty-thousand dollars." Ann turned and picked up a script lying on a chair next to her. "You said you studied all of Korn's stuff before we began filming, right?"

Quinn reached out and took the script from Ann and then began reading through the changes. "Did you write this?"

"Sadly, no," Ann admitted. "Leona proves again that she was not born but molded into being by the hands of ancient gods."

"She's not that great," Quinn mumbled as she read over her new lines, her memory of Leona and Rachel spending a night alone together always fresh in her mind.

"How would you know?" Ann asked. "You only met her like, twice."

"Three times actually," Quinn corrected. "The first time wasn't so great."

"Interesting," Ann said obviously intrigued by the story that was behind Quinn's admission. "But your first time with Leona is a story for another time. Find a coat. You have fifteen minutes to learn your lines."

Quinn hit Ann on the shoulder with her script. "It's not what you think."

Ann smiled. "I've heard the rumors about Leona. She's the love 'em and leave 'em sort." She shrugged. "Course, I've heard the same rumors about you."

"You have?" Quinn couldn't remember the last time she spoke to anyone about her love life.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Ann soothed. "Some people are just heartbreakers."

"You think I'm a heartbreaker?" Quinn asked surprised. She had known Ann for five years, and this was the first time Ann had ever mentioned knowing about Quinn's past loves.

Ann chuckled. "You should really look in the mirror some time, Quinn. A lot of people think you've been molded by the hands of ancient gods, too."

Quinn was incredulous. "You're serious?"

This time Ann laughed aloud. "Wow, you're one clueless chick." She placed her hand on Quinn's arm. "If I were gay for you then I might have just fallen in love." Ann gave Quinn a soft push away from her. "Now go learn your lines."

Quinn stumbled, but quickly caught her balance. She walked away from Ann refusing dwell on the conversation she had just had with the director. Ann had a tendency to dramatize everything and Quinn didn't think she could take Ann's words as a universal truth. So, she pushed the conversation out of her mind and found a blanket and a corner so that she could quickly memorize the new song she was supposed to be singing.

True to her word, Ann gave Quinn fifteen minutes to learn all the changes and then went through the scene with Quinn before filming. They went through the scene five times before Ann was satisfied enough to call it a night. By the end, Quinn was in worse condition than she had been before. Her throat hurt and her fingers and toes had grown numb.

When she made it back to her motel room, she immediately walked to the bathroom and began running water for a warm bath. She then turned the television back on, hoping to see Rachel giving another late night interview. When she didn't find anything worth watching, she picked up her mobile phone and opened the browser. She typed in her wife's name and was glad to see that a number of Rachel's most recent interviews had already been posted online.

Quinn walked back to the bathroom, phone still in hand, and then turned off the running water. She placed her phone on the counter, undressed, and then picked her phone up again before getting into the tub. She released a long sigh as the warm water began soothing her tightened muscles. Once settled, she looked down at her phone and pressed play on the most recent video of Rachel that had been posted.

It was an interview from earlier that morning. Rachel had appeared on a network morning news show. It was unusual for her to not perform first, but Quinn supposed Rachel had put a limit on how many times she would perform in a day out of concern that she would damage her voice. It was a viable concern since Rachel was putting on two shows a day.

The interview wasn't much different than the one Quinn had watched earlier. The questions were similar as were Rachel's answers, but once it had finished playing Quinn re-watched it anyway before moving onto the next video that had been posted. She had gotten through five videos before the water turned uncomfortably cold.

She stepped out of the tub, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked at her image, trying to see whatever it was Ann saw. When her imagination failed to conjure up a decent image, Quinn stared at the mirror trying to see whatever it was Rachel saw when Rachel's eyes fell upon her.

Did Rachel think she was a heartbreaker or a being molded into perfection by the hands of gods?

The idea was sort of ridiculous. Quinn had never considered herself to be anything more than an overly ordinary person acting at being more than she really was. Her whole outward persona was kind of a lie she had manufactured so that no one really saw the cracked fragments that pieced her together.

Looking in the mirror, Quinn saw the cracks and she had no doubt that Rachel could see them too. It was impossible to hide them away from her wife since Rachel insisted on talking about everything. She had even forced conversation after she had told Quinn about Shelby Corcoran adopting Beth. Quinn had wanted to hide away and pretend like she hadn't ever gained that knowledge, but Rachel wouldn't allow it.

Quinn looked over her body once more. She noted the bruises that covered her torso and her abnormally gaunt appearance. Her body could be an advertisement on imperfection, she realized.

She shook her head, and then wrapped a towel around her body. She didn't bother to get dressed again. She just shuffled towards the bed and then fell onto it. She was almost asleep when an unpleasant knock sounded on her door.

"You've got to be kidding me," Quinn complained as she pushed herself off of the bed. Once up, she dragged her feet around the room gathering clothes as she went. She slipped on her clothes before answering the door, sure that she would be opening the door to Ann who was probably there to inform her that she was needed back on set.

When the door opened and revealed Rachel Berry, Quinn was almost convinced that she was hallucinating. "Are you real?" She dumbly asked.

"Surprise," Rachel whispered as she stepped into the room then closed the door behind her.

Quinn fell into the surreal moment and reached out so that she could pull Rachel towards her. "This is the best dream ever."

Rachel laughed softly into Quinn's shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around her wife's waist. "I needed to see you."

With her brain catching up to reality, Quinn pulled far enough away from Rachel so that she could look down at her wife. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rachel quickly replied.

Quinn wasn't convinced. She ran her hands up to Rachel's face. "What's wrong?" She asked again.

"I don't know," Rachel leaned further into Quinn's touch.

Quinn slowly ran her eyes across every bit of her wife's body. She noted the dark circles under Rachel's normally bright brown eyes. She noted the slight hunch in Rachel's shoulders as if an invisible weight had been resting there. She noted everything that was abnormal and out of place.

"I'm tired," Rachel eventually admitted.

"Okay." Quinn didn't allow her hands to lose contact with Rachel's body as she guided her wife to the bed. They laid down on it together and Rachel curled her body tightly around Quinn's.

Quinn's eyes didn't leave Rachel. She watched as Rachel's eyes fell shut and her breathing evened. She couldn't remember if she ever saw her wife so worn out. She stayed awake throughout the night, guarding over Rachel's sleep. When morning came Rachel woke up and maintained her silence.

At times, Quinn knew that Rachel's moods would become mercurial. She had always been that way since the first moment they had met. Quinn remembered an eight year old Rachel storming out of music class in protest at not getting to lead the class in singing a song from Mary Poppins.

"Don't you have a performance today?" Quinn asked, hoping that the inquiry would garner her answers to why her wife was so miserable.

"No," Rachel answered, "I was fired."

"What?" Quinn asked surprised.

"Well," Rachel sighed, "technically I quit, but I feel like I was fired."

"What happened?" Quinn pressed her body closer to Rachel's.

"Stupidity is alive and well," Rachel said in lieu of a real explanation.

"Rach, come on," Quinn urged. "What happened?"

Rachel sighed again. "Press about your movie is starting to circulate already."

"Damn it, Berry," Quinn cursed. "You didn't do something stupid because of me did you?"

"I don't like people parodying you," Rachel replied indignant. "They don't give you the credit you deserve. I'm tired of people not taking you seriously as an artist."

Quinn buried her face into Rachel's chest. "Thank you for defending my honor, though it wasn't necessary. You certainly didn't have to quit and storm off all the way to Canada."

Rachel softly laughed. "Hindsight, I might have overreacted," she admitted, "but it is pointless to make ultimatums unless one is willing to follow through on them."

Quinn pulled away from her wife. "Ultimatum?"

"I told Chris that either Katherine be fired or that I would leave." Rachel ran her hand across Quinn's face. "He refused to fire her in the middle of the tour despite the fact that she has an understudy that would be an adequate replacement."

"I thought you didn't want your costar fired?" Quinn questioned.

"Well, that changed when she mistakenly assumed that she should have been cast in this movie instead of you. She refused to admit that she didn't get the part because she is inferior."

Quinn shook her head and laughed. Leave it to her wife to quit over bitter comments made by a spurned actress. She looked into Rachel's eyes and couldn't help but wonder once again what it was Rachel saw when she looked at her.

"I think you're sort of insane, Berry," Quinn easily confessed.

"Yes well," Rachel slid her hands underneath Quinn's shirt, "you're not perfect, but you are mine."

Quinn's breath hitched; Rachel's touch ignited a fire underneath her skin. Quinn briefly wondered what Ann would say if she could see her now, completely at Rachel Berry's mercy. Her reputation wouldn't stand up against the assault. Next to Rachel, Quinn always felt terribly exposed. "Thanks for being my hero," Quinn said before Rachel leaned in and captured her lips.


	10. Chapter 10

NIGHTS IN GOODVILLE

She storms out of her home, making a point to slam the door closed as loudly as possible after she steps through it. She wants her anger to fill the entire space she is leaving behind and wants her presence to be felt long after she has driven off. She hurries to her car and then quickly gets into it but hesitates a long moment before starting the engine. She watches the front door, hoping that she's being followed just so that she can reject any efforts at reconciliation.

The door remains shut and she realizes that she is not going to be chased after. She huffs indignantly and then pushes the button that will start her car. She revs the engine loudly, knowing that it's her chance at getting the last word in. She yanks the car into reverse and then peels out of the driveway. She wishes she knew how to make her car tires squeal in protest before she slams the car back into drive, levels her foot on the accelerator and then pulls away from her home.

She makes it two minutes away from the house before she even considers where it is she's driving to. Their house isn't right around the corner from a quick escape. They built it closer to the middle of nowhere so that it could serve as a refuge. She has never thought of it as a prison, though now she is deeply considering it to be such. The nearest town is ten miles away and she's not convinced that she'll be able to hold onto her anger long enough to make the drive.

She slams the flat of her hand against the steering wheel. She is frustrated with her wife, herself, her whole freaking situation. She is at odds with her moral compass and wants nothing more than to march back into their home, declare her undying love, and hold onto her wife forever as they start making plans for their future. Though, she is positive that another talk about their future will just degenerate into another argument.

It seems, she rolls her eyes, that as much as things have changed for them there are still so many things that stay the same. They have never seen completely eye to eye about their future together. They have made compromises—their house in the middle of nowhere being one of them—but no compromise has eased either of their individual ambitions. At least, she admits, the compromises haven't eased hers.

Her wife's plan for their future is to settle down for a bit. Quinn wants to take a break from Hollywood and New York and wants to venture back out into the real world. Quinn believes it a possibility to fade back into obscurity and Rachel can admit that perhaps in time they can, but Rachel doesn't want to fade to black. She wants to continue performing up until the point she no longer walks the Earth.

Quinn's request is unreasonable. Rachel Berry cannot give up the stage, the cameras, the audiences not even for Quinn Fabray. Not even for however long 'a little while' is supposed to be. So much could happen in 'a little while'. She might miss out on the role of a lifetime and her chances at winning an Oscar would flutter away on a missed opportunity. Quinn has already been given opportunities and has capitalized on them.

Quinn has her awards and has known fame that Rachel still can't compete with. Though, Rachel is tangled up in it. Her name is often now Quinn Fabray's tagline. New rumors that were at one time old rumors have begun to circulate again. People who know nothing are conjecturing about her private life as if they share it with her. Their stories are, of course, terribly inaccurate tending to insist that she and Quinn are best friends or secret lovers. No matter which spectrum the rumor falls under it always seems to burst with untruth.

That's why she doesn't pay attention to the rumors, not really, but she does pay attention to how she is described in the articles. Too often she is described as 'Berry, Broadway performer' or 'Rachel Berry, famous for her guest appearance on…'. She has somehow become a recognizable face or voice without a recognizable name.

With this at the forefront of her mind, there is no way she can agree to take a break for 'a little while'. Too much could happen in the span of 'a little while' that could turn it into 'a long while'. They could decide to move to a different country, perhaps one without easy access to television, the internet or a well funded arts community. It would be an escape from the media hounds that sniff them out no matter where they are, but she doesn't want to exist in a cultureless vacuum.

They could decide to travel the world and see all the things they miss out on while traveling around for work. It would be their true first adventure together. She always thought it would be romantic to hop from one country to another, and only be immersed with each other and the unknown that would surround them. They would outrun the rumors and the stresses that seem to have become too much.

They could…start living out some kind of late blooming fairytale. They could start working on possibly beginning on exploring the idea of extending their family. Quinn could get the chance to actually sit down with Beth and work on building some kind of relationship with her daughter. Quinn might even be talked into having another child. Or they could adopt, but Rachel knows that Quinn secretly desires to be pregnant again. Quinn wants a second try at being a mother, and Rachel wants to see Quinn being a mother, too.

She wants all the things that Quinn wants. She just doesn't want to have to give up her career to have them. She doesn't want to have to press pause on her career just so that she can press play on her marriage. Taking this 'little while' means more than just moving out of the way of the camera lens. It means a lot more since their veil of secrecy is ever so slowly lifting.

Private things are becoming public and if both of them at the same time walk away… well that will just sort of ruin everything won't it?

She doesn't want to be this selfish about it, not really. It's not her goal to be the naysayer when Quinn speaks so seriously about stepping away from the special bits of themselves that allow them to be the ones out of millions that made it in the business. She's been supportive. At least, she thinks she's been supportive through everything that has been happening. She hasn't pushed—too much—for Quinn to contact Beth. She didn't object—too loudly—when Quinn decided to put their joint movie project on hold indefinitely. She has honored—for the most part—Quinn's wishes to not talk about work during their week away from it all.

Still, some things did need to be discussed. Some things could not be buried in silence and then expected to miraculously work out in the end. Things didn't just work themselves out.

There's a knock on the car window and she jumps having almost forgotten she was still sitting in her car less than a mile away from her house. Her eyes quickly shift to the window and a feeling of warmth overwhelms her as she sees her wife standing outside.

Quinn's hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and her white t-shirt is hanging loosely off her right shoulder. Quinn is so seamlessly perfect. Rachel's always thought so even when they were kids back in Lima, Ohio and Rachel's one true love was performing. Back then, Quinn's perfection made Rachel angry, jealous, and just a little bit bitter. Quinn never had to work as hard as her, at least that's what Rachel had believed. She knows better now.

She knows so much more now—about both of them.

But she's still supposed to be angry. A messy ponytail and a loose t-shirt shouldn't be enough to ascertain forgiveness.

"I'm not letting you in," she announces. "Go back to the house."

"This is stupid," Quinn mouths, knowing that Rachel won't be able to clearly hear her through the glass.

"Go back to the house," Rachel mouths back. She doesn't want this argument to end so quickly. She doesn't want to give in.

Quinn steps away from the car and Rachel thinks she has won, but when the car doors unlock and the passenger side door is pulled open she knows better.

"I do have a key to this car, too," Quinn points out as she slides into the seat next to Rachel.

"So you've just decided to force yourself upon me?" Rachel huffs. "I do not currently desire your company."

"You've been sitting alone out here for twenty minutes." Quinn shifts in the seat so that she is closer to Rachel. "I didn't want to wait another twenty minutes to end this fight."

"Well, I want to wait another twenty minutes." She knows she's being immature but she wants…she doesn't know what she wants, and that's the real problem. Because, forever and ever all she wanted was to be on stage. She wanted her name to be a household staple. She wanted to be someone special and wanted a bevy of devoted fans.

Quinn clasps her hands together and dips her head. "I know, but I want to do this like peeling off a Band-Aid."

"No," Rachel answers the question Quinn is yet to ask. "Absolutely not."

Quinn's head lifts up and her wide eyes focus on Rachel. "You don't even know what you're saying no to."

Rachel raises a brow. "Do you really think I don't know what asinine suggestion you were about to make?"

Quinn's wide eyes narrow and then turn away from Rachel.

"I refuse to live separate lives again, Quinn," she says knowing that her wife is quickly thinking of some way to defend a suggestion neither of them really wants to carry through.

"This is my early midlife crisis, not yours." Quinn keeps her eyes focused on the dashboard. "I'm the one that suddenly wants to escape. I'm the one that has to figure this thing out with Beth. These are my things to deal with, not yours and it's not fair of me…"

"Stop talking," Rachel interjects. "You should really just stop talking."

Quinn's face moves from indignant to chastisement within seconds. "W-what should I be saying?"

Rachel reaches over and rests her hand atop Quinn's. "We're both different than we were before," she whispers. "I've spent the last twenty minutes in this car thinking about my career and all that I'll be missing out on if I take a break from it."

"And I don't have the right to ask you to choose between your first love and me," Quinn comments knowing that her plea for a while of respite was not an easy request.

"That's not what I'm concerned about," Rachel dips her head and focuses on the steering wheel. She briefly wonders why they always seem to have these conversations in cars. There's probably some profound deeper meaning behind their tendency to sit in cars and hash out their lives, but she's in no mood to decode the meaning. She's in no mood to decipher meaning from anything. She's tired of trying to look through closed doors as if they would suddenly become translucent.

"What is your concern?"

Quinn's words crash through Rachel's reemergence into convoluted thoughts that are slowly being sorted out. Rachel sits up straighter, rolls her shoulders back, and takes a deep breath. "I think that it's horribly unfair that you stumbled into my life and slowly took it over."

Quinn blinks in confusion. "What?"

Rachel takes in another deep breath. "You came into my life, married me, and simply decided that you would become the most important thing in it."

"Oh," Quinn is still confused. "I'm sure I didn't do that on purpose?"

"Well I hope you are proud of yourself," Rachel says and her body slumps. "You have completely changed every major priority I have ever had."

A slow-developing smirk creeps across Quinn's lips. "I have?"

"Don't sound so proud of yourself," Rachel reprimands. "I'm sure you've been planning my downfall since middle school."

The smirk slides into a smile. "Only since middle school?" Quinn questions.

Rachel nods. "Yes, it must have started at puberty."

The smile turns into a laugh. "Puberty?"

"Of course," Rachel says in no uncertain terms. "That's when you started weaving your magic and made your nefarious plots to make sure that I would always play a supporting role in your life. You have refused to let me be the star."

"Rach," Quinn reaches over and grabs onto her wife's thigh, "you can't be serious."

"And why can't I?" Rachel's muscles relax under Quinn's touch.

Quinn captures Rachel's eyes. "Then it goes both ways," she rebukes. "I was supposed to live a bohemian life and leave a trail of lovers behind me. I was supposed to outrun anything that could ever hold me down."

"Hmm," Rachel grunts. "What pathetic creatures we turned out to be."

Quinn nods. "A major disappointment," she agrees.

Their eyes hold for a moment longer before the tension between them dissolves into relieving laughter. When the laughter dies down, Rachel reaches over and cups her wife's face in her hands. She slowly leans forward and holds the moment in perfect suspense until she covers Quinn's lips with her own.

Their lips linger even after the kiss has ended. They pull slowly apart, Quinn's face still cupped in Rachel's hands.

"I can't give up my career," Rachel whispers. It's an unreasonable request. She's just signed on to do a television series for a major network. She can't just turn her back on that kind of opportunity. At least, it shouldn't be so damn easy to willingly up give up on something that had meant so much to her for so damn long. "But I want something that I thought I'd never have."

Quinn's eyes slip shut. She knows she needs to take in this moment. She needs to give it the recognition that it deserves. Rachel Berry is offering something that has never been offered before. Rachel is declaring a new one true love.

"You'll still do your series," Quinn asserts, her eyes still closed. "We'll make that work."

Rachel slides her right hand away from Quinn's face. It traces down Quinn's shoulders, then her arms until it reaches her hand. "It doesn't matter."

"No, no," Quinn quickly disagrees. "It matters. It will always matter. You aren't my Rachel without the lights, cameras, action thing."

Rachel chuckles. "Is that really how you see me?"

"It's a part of you," Quinn replies, "a major part of you."

"And the other part?" Rachel questions quietly wondering what she is without the 'light, cameras, action'. She hasn't really bothered to learn about that aspect of her personality that so often went unused.

"The other part," Quinn repeats, "that's a work in progress, because we're a work in progress."

"Are we?" Rachel leans down and kisses her wife's hand. "I kind of thought we were a finished product."

Quinn shakes her head, "Not yet." She reaches over and runs her left hand through Rachel's hair. She loved the feel of Rachel's hair against her fingers. She would be irrationally angry if Rachel ever cut off her hair. "We're just a work in progress."

LITTLE BOXES

Rachel was not ignorant about what her peers said about her behind her back. Directors, producers, writers, actors, and crew members had said on several occasions that Rachel Berry was difficult to work with. They said that she was a perfectionist and ill tempered. Though, her fits of rage never included curse words and biting commentary. Her fits were more likely to be dramatic exits and extended breaks that slowed production.

No one could say, however, that Rachel's insistence on perfection didn't make everybody work harder. People wanted to live up to Rachel's standards. It's as if they wanted to prove to her that she wasn't that much better than they were. She forced everyone to be their best, and that little requirement made every production she was in better. That's why she had won multiple Tony awards. That's why she was the highest paid Broadway performer. That's why crowds lined up after her every performance to get just a little piece of her attention.

She was the star and everyone knew it. It wasn't her fault that she got more attention than her fellow actors. After every performance her dressing room was overflowing with flowers and cards full of well wishes. The attention had gotten more extreme since she had begun touring. She was treated like a rock star and she loved it, her ego loved it. More importantly, she knew that she deserved it. Everyone knew it.

No one was even trying to fight it anymore. At the end of the performance, the other actors would take a step back and give Rachel her moment alone in the spotlight. She had been carrying the tour through the season and as long as Rachel pulled in the crowds they all got nice paychecks.

It was the end of another performance, and as was normal, the cast was lined up outside of the theatre mingling and taking pictures with the attendees. Rachel was standing in her own designated area with a long line of people waiting in front of her. She worked through each fan with a smile and word of thanks. She posed for pictures and signed newly purchased merchandise.

There were also two security officers standing close to Rachel, surveying the crowd. They had been deemed necessary by the show's producers as soon as the show went on tour. The crowds had never gotten out of hand, but there were fans that went one picture too far or made one comment too inappropriate.

Rachel had resisted the added security at first, having declared that she wanted her fans to have full access. She had argued with the producers for days about the issue, and then one day suddenly changed her mind. No one knew what had made Rachel give in, but they didn't ask questions because they were glad that the argument was over and done with. Rachel never confessed that it was Quinn Fabray who had ultimately reasoned that if Rachel didn't need security than neither did she.

Since Rachel cared more about Quinn's safety than her own, she had given in because she believed it simply stupid for Quinn to not have a security detail while flying around the world promoting some movie or another. In real life Quinn was not Supergirl; she wasn't bullet proof. She reached a wider audience than Rachel, and therefore Rachel knew Quinn was more likely to run into some crazy person who claimed to be Quinn's Number One Fan Kathy Bates style in Misery.

Rachel worried more about Quinn that she wanted to admit. She felt that Quinn wasn't as strong as her. She wasn't built to handle the pressures of fame and didn't seem to enjoy it as much as a person should. Quinn liked smaller audiences and intimate environments. That's why she did movies and not theatre, but Rachel handled the crowds well enough for the both of them.

When they went out together to a premiere or an awards show she ended up doing most of the talking. Quinn would lovingly watch as Rachel answered the questions for the both of them. When she did end up answering a question on her own, her eyes still focused on Rachel keeping up a wall between her and the outside world. In public, Quinn often seemed so softly spoken, though in reality Rachel was well aware that her wife could use words to her advantage.

They balanced each other in that respect. Quinn knew how to keep silent and Rachel seemed to always possess the right words at the right moment. It was another way that they just sort of… fit. Rachel was slowly beginning to believe that their marriage wasn't just a naïve construct. They hadn't celebrated their first year anniversary mostly because both of them were too scared to celebrate something that was still uncertain.

That's why Rachel insisted their second year anniversary was going to be a huge private celebration. The first year could have been a fluke, but the second? That proved that what they had was real. It meant that they could start building a life together instead of continuing to live apart.

"Ms. Berry?" The woman in front of Rachel asked uncertainly. Rachel's attention had begun to wonder as the woman carried on talking about her daughter's desire to become a Broadway star. It was story that had been shared with Rachel on more than one occasion by numerous people seeking her autograph.

"I'm sorry," Rachel apologized. "I think it's wonderful about your daughter. She sounds really talented."

The woman looked over her shoulder to seek out the thing that had garnered Rachel's attention. Sitting hidden in a dark corner away from the crowds sat a familiar face. "Is that Quinn Fabray?" She asked.

Rachel grinned, amused that the woman's attention went so easily away from her towards being in awe of Quinn's presence. Rachel really couldn't blame her, though. Quinn was attention worthy, even if she stole away the spotlight. "I think it is," Rachel played along. "She must be a fan of the show."

"Do you know her personally?" The woman's eyes stayed glued to Quinn.

"We grew up together," Rachel casually admitted. Anyone with an internet connection could verify that tidbit of information.

"Do you think she would mind if I went over and asked for her autograph?"

Rachel looked around. The crowd had mostly thinned out and Rachel knew that Quinn had just been waiting for the night to end. She had been traveling around for the last two weeks with Rachel and had mostly gone under the radar. The cast had hardly paid attention to Quinn's presence since they had gotten used to Quinn's sporadic appearances throughout the entire production.

"Of course she wouldn't," Rachel grabbed onto the woman's hand. "Let's go say hello."

Those who had stayed and that were waiting for their turn to speak with Rachel, watched her walk hand in hand with her fan across the room. That's when everyone began to notice that there was another famous person in their midst. They watched as Rachel reached the dark corner and then released the woman's hand. She bent down and greeted Quinn Fabray with a kiss on the cheek and then sat down next to her.

People began looking around at each other, seeking permission to trail behind Rachel Berry. One moved and then another, and eventually Rachel and Quinn were surrounded by people. Rachel told them to pull tables together and take a seat. Quinn gave Rachel a tolerating look, but didn't offer any protest.

Eagerly, the small crowd pulled together the tables and filled the seats.

"I'm glad you all decided to sit down," Rachel commented. "My feet were getting tired," she added.

"Does that mean we're not getting an encore?" A man in the crowd jokingly asked.

"Don't ask," Quinn answered. "If you get her singing again she'll never stop. I'll be hearing it all night."

"Hey!" Rachel protested and slapped Quinn on the shoulder. "These people paid their hard earned money to hear me sing."

The crowd laughed again, and shifted a bit closer to the two women easily fascinated by the interaction.

"Well," Quinn smirked, "I got in for free."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Ignore her," she told their audience, "she's always been jealous of my superior talent."

"How long have you two known each other?" A woman sitting to Quinn's left asked. "You seem like close friends."

"We grew up together," Rachel again answered, intentionally keeping her answer the same as before.

They kept answering questions until one of the theatre managers caught Rachel's attention and let her know that they were closing up. The crowd groaned in protest as their chance to hang out with Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray came to an inevitable end. Quinn surprised them all when she offered to move the impromptu get together to the jazz bar across the street.

Most everyone in the crowd eagerly agreed and hurried off to get their spot in the next location. Rachel and Quinn slowly walked together out of the building. "Why?" Rachel asked as they walked. "You hate mingling."

"But you don't," Quinn answered. "I don't like sharing you, but I'll have you alone later."

It was already close to midnight and the night still felt young. Rachel grabbed onto Quinn's hand and held it tightly in her own. They walked across the street to the bar and were welcomed by the people who had been eagerly seeking their attention. Tables had been pushed together and two seats were left vacant for Quinn and Rachel.

"I'll get us something to drink," Quinn offered after they had reached the table. "I'll start a tab for everyone."

"Everyone?" Rachel questioned.

"I think I can afford it," Quinn replied. "Do you want your usual?"

"Yes, thank you." Rachel slowly let her hand slip out of Quinn's. Their eyes met for a moment longer and then Quinn slipped away into the crowd.

"So honestly," A woman sidled up next to Rachel, "how long have you and Quinn Fabray been together?"

Rachel smiled and turned to look at the woman sitting next to her. It was the same woman who had previously asked how long she and Quinn had known each other. "We grew up together," Rachel repeated.

The woman looked skeptical, as if she knew she was being fed a lie or at least part of a lie. "So you two aren't an item?"

"An item," Rachel chuckled, "no. We have never been an 'item'." They had always been so much more than a casual fling. Even in high school they hadn't ever been simple.

"I'm sorry," the woman immediately apologized. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that you and her seem kind of…" she paused searching for a non offensive word, "intimate."

"She's my best friend," Rachel confessed. "She is the only person in the world that knows me."

"Oh," the woman dumbly replied. "I guess that makes sense."

Rachel grinned. "It doesn't have to make sense," she said. "It just…is."

"Then I wish I had a best friend like that," the woman commented and then stood up and slinked back into the crowd.

A few moments later Quinn returned with two drinks in hand. She placed both on the table and then sat down. She leaned in closer to Rachel and asked, "Was that woman hitting on you?"

"Why are you jealous?" Rachel slipped a hand onto Quinn's thigh.

"I'm Quinn Fabray," Quinn's muscles contracted under Rachel's touch, "I don't get jealous."

Rachel leaned in even closer to her wife. "I think you're lying," she whispered.

"She's not really that cute," Quinn declared.

"Easy tiger," Rachel ran her hand up Quinn's thigh, "she was just curious about our relationship."

"What did you tell her?"

Rachel shrugged. "The truth."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "The truth? What truth?"

Rachel laughed. It was kind of ridiculous how much sense Quinn's question made, because with them there were multiple truths. It was true that they grew up together. It was true that Quinn was her best friend. It was true that of all the people in the world Quinn was the only person that really understood her. But, it was also true that they were 'intimate' in ways that went beyond friendship.

She desired Quinn—a desire that went beyond sexual gratification and physical attraction. It was a desire that had begun long before she even could properly identify what it was. It was just a feeling inside of her that often was misinterpreted as a tangential affect of love. It had taken her time to sort it out and realize that the desire stood alone.

The desire had power over her. It made her take risks like caressing Quinn's thigh in the middle of a crowded bar. It made her lean in close even when it would be more prudent to pull away. It made her want to straddle Quinn's lap and sink into her. It made her out of character.

"It doesn't matter," Rachel finally answered as she reached over with her free hand and picked up her drink. "Let's not dwell on it."

Quinn leaned back and wrapped her arm around Rachel. "You're really trying to get us in trouble aren't you?"

Rachel took a sip from her drink and then commented "I've always been the risk taker."

"Says you." Quinn pulled Rachel closer.

"I do." Rachel relaxed into Quinn.

Their eyes broke apart and looked out in the crowded room. Most eyes were on them and overlooked the intimate moment they shared. They didn't pay any attention to it, no matter what rumors might be started. They had already given up on trying to control what was said. They were in the public eye and rumors would be spread. At the time, a rumor about Quinn having an affair with the male lead in her recent flick was spreading like wildfire. According to the rumor mill, she was pregnant with his child.

Their attention turned to the band playing on stage. The lead singer was…decent though Rachel knew that she was better. They finished their first drinks and then another and another. The questions from their group of fans died down and eased into an enjoyable night out. People slowly forgot that they were sitting at the same table as Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. They became like anyone else inside the bar having a good time together.

The highlight of the night came when the lead singer announced she was going to take a break. Some of the patrons boldly asked Rachel to get up and sing.

"I've been singing all day," Rachel declared and then did something she didn't do with anyone else; she willingly handed over the spotlight. "You should ask Quinn. She has a wonderful voice."

The crowd looked skeptically at the woman who had her arm wrapped around the Broadway star. None of them had ever heard that Quinn Fabray could sing at all. She was Supergirl, and while she did that well enough, it didn't involve singing.

"Go ahead," Rachel nodded towards the stage, "break a leg."

"Do you really want me to?" Quinn asked.

Rachel nodded. "Sing something for me."

Quinn looked down at her wife and then turned to the crowd. Anticipation filled the air. It felt like a milestone was resting on a precipice waiting for a strong wind to push it over the edge.

Quinn turned back to her wife. "For you," she said and then quickly gulped down what was left of her drink. She stood up to applause and then steadily made her way to the stage. She quickly was introduced to the band and then the bass player simply asked, "What is it you want us to play?"

Rachel watched as Quinn brushed her hands nervously against her legs. She got a bit of a thrill as she watched her wife move across the stage. She knew Quinn hated to perform live, but it was their second year anniversary and Rachel wanted to hear her wife sing to her. The fact that it was in public was just an added bonus. Though, being so explicit about their relationship was something they had ever done before.

They had pushed more boundaries than they ever had before. So, why couldn't Quinn stand up and sing to her?

"Okay so uh," Quinn mumbled into the microphone, "you all are going to have to forgive me. I'm a little rusty at performing in front of crowds."

"Sing it!" A drunken patron yelled from the bar.

The tension in the room scaled back and Quinn smiled at her erstwhile supporter. "Thanks…whoever you are." She brushed her loose hair behind her ear. "So Rach asked me to stand up here and sing, and what Berry wants she gets."

The crowd cheered and laughed equally entertained by the intoxicating presence of the two stars in their company and the alcohol.

"So," Quinn shrugged, "I guess I should start singing." She turned to the band. "You guys ready?"

"Sure thing," the drummer replied and then began the count. The music started up and Quinn tightened hands into fists and started to sway to the music. "So for Rach," she looked out over the crowd and met her wife's eyes, "Nights in White Satin."

The band continued to play and eventually Quinn added her voice to the music. Rachel leaned back and let her wife's voice wash over her. The lyrics to the song were bold and a clear declaration for anyone still sober enough to hear it. Rachel closed her eyes and filtered out everyone else in the room.

Like any other moment meant to be savored, it passed too quickly. Quinn's voice faded and the music stopped. There was a moment of silence before the song ended the crowd began to give their appreciation for her talent. Rachel opened her eyes and quickly sought out Quinn's. "I love you, too," she whispered.

Quinn bowed her head and blushed.

This wasn't exactly what Rachel had had in mind when she thought about her wedding anniversary. She hadn't wanted to be on tour and traveling across the country. She hadn't wanted Quinn to be fresh from traveling the world from another movie premiere bolstering up a blockbuster that promised more action than substance. She hadn't wanted to celebrate it in a bar full of strangers.

She had wanted to plan the perfect night, but she realized that for her and Quinn—planning wasn't so much their strong suit. Things happened between them and they went along with it. They made decisions when the moment felt right, not necessarily when it felt prudent, and Rachel absolutely hated that. She hated it not being planned. She hated that they didn't already have their next five anniversaries marked on their calendars, but she wasn't quite sure that planning it out would make it any better.

Because in what other circumstance would she have had the opportunity to perform her Broadway hit on stage, mingle with adoring fans, cuddle with her wife in a bar, and hear her wife sing to her all on the same night? How could she have planned something so perfect?

"Encore!" She yelled as the crowd began harassing Quinn for another song. Quinn gave her a long suffering look and then turned back to the band to pick out another song.

…Perfect.

Additional A/N: Okay hope you enjoyed it. A couple of things I would like to encourage. Listen to the song "Nights in White Satin". The Who, I believe, originally sang it but the version Quinn is singing in this is supposed to be Bettye Lavette's. I'm not big on song fics but it's Glee, right? Actually, most of the segment titles throughout this fic have been song titles. I'm a huge music junky. It gets me through the long days ( I work 24-72hr shifts for work). A Campaign of Shock and Awe is also taken from the Evelyn Evelyn song same name. When it comes down to it, I'm not terribly original. LOL.

The lyrics are as follows, but seriously listen to Bettye Lavette's version because the lyrics don't do her version justice:

(written by David Hayward)

Nights in white satin  
Never quite reaching the end  
I've got letters here I've written  
I never meant to send

Beauty I've always missed  
With these old eyes before  
Just what the truth is  
I can't say no more

But I love you  
I love you  
I love you  
I love you

Gazing at people  
Some of them walking hand in hand  
Exactly what I'm going through  
I don't think they can understand

Some of them try to tell me

Whatever it is you wanna be  
You gonna be in the end

But I just wanna say, "I love you"  
I love you  
I love you  
I love you

Lord, I love you  
I love you  
I love you  
I love you

I love you  
I love you  
I love you  
I love you

I love you

Nights in white satin  
Never quite reaching the end  
I've got letters here I've written


	11. Chapter 11

I Hope that I Don't Fall in Love With You

INTERLUDES (QUINN)

"Hey, your name is Quinn, right?"

Quinn looked up from the book she was reading and towards the stranger who had just sat down in front of her. "Do I know you?"

"Not so much," he answered. "We're in the same English course. You sit all the way up front. I sit all the way in the back." He leaned further in. "This ringin' any bells for ya?" 

"Should it?" She asked. Already, she was done with the conversation. She felt no need to socialize with her peers while they sat in the hallway waiting for the lecture hall to empty so that they could enter.

"Okay, so you're not all with the warm and fuzzies, I get that." He cleared his throat. "I'm not hitting on you, if that's what you're concerned about."

Quinn pulled her headphones from her ears and then laid down her book. "Do I look concerned?"

"No," he drew out the word, "but you are making me nervous."

Quinn raised her eyebrow. "If I'm making you nervous then why don't you go away?"

He chuckled. "On the 'being approachable' scale you rate a negative ten."

"Then why are you still talking?" She has been pulled into the intrigue his appearance generated. No one approached her. No one tried to talk to her. She'd built a wall between her and the world. It had protected her well the last few years of her life.

"On Tuesday you sat out here with your headphones shoved in your ears and a book in front of you, and I couldn't get you out of my mind." He confessed.

She smirked. "I thought you said you weren't hitting on me."

"I'm not," he smiled. "I'm propositioning you."

She pulled back, her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Okay, that sounded weird," he held up his hands. "I can admit that, but I'm a producer."

She crossed her arms in front of her. "I think you'll want to try this again."

"Not for a porno," he quickly defended. "No, nothing like that. I want you for a web series."

"You realize that doesn't sound much better, right?" She was completely committed to the conversation now and intent on seeing it to its end.

He dipped his head, having been caught in another conversational misstep. "You make a fair and valid point," he admitted. "Will you accept a do-over?"

She softly laughed. "Why don't I take the lead this time?"

"Go for it," he happily agreed.

"Okay." She sat up straighter and then offered out her hand. "My name is Quinn Fabray."

He wiped his hand on his jeans before he reached out and gripped her hand in his. "Alex Latiolais. Nice to meet you."

"You want to go get a cup of coffee?" She asked as she released his hand.

He looked around. The lecture hall had emptied and their classmates were already rushing into the vacated room. "You ever skip a class before?"

"Why do you ask?" She gathered her bag and her book. "Do I not look like a girl who skips class?" She looked back to him. "Do you think I'm not your average college student?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "You seem like some kind of poster of a girl, hardly real at all."

"And that's why you want me to be in your web series?" She deciphered.

"There's something big happening behind those brown eyes." He reached over to take her bag, but she didn't allow him the chivalrous moment.

"Okay," she decided, "you buy me a cup of coffee and I'll do your web series."

"Right on." He kept his voice calm, not wanting to scare away the treasure he had just won. "So where are you from?"

"Nothing and Nowhere," she answered.

"Oh," he shoved his hands in his front pockets, "I'm from Louisiana."

"You have an accent," she pointed out. "It's different. Most people here seem to want to be anyone else in the world but themselves. It's probably because they're trying to reinvent themselves from high school."

He wisely decided not to point out that she was part of 'most people'. "I think most places are like that."

They finally started to walk towards the exit, Quinn was leading the way. "I knew a girl once; she never hid anything about herself. It drove me crazy."

"I once knew a guy who could recite the alphabet backwards while drunk." He kept pace with Quinn. "It was the freakiest thing since the boy was halfway illiterate."

She stopped walking. "What?"

"It's true," he kept walking. "We called him Drunk Alph."

She shook her head, and then started walking again. "Rachel," she said once she caught up to him, "her name was Rachel Berry."

"The name sounds familiar."

"She's on Broadway now."

"Do you think you can get her to be in the web series, too?" he selfishly asked.

"I don't have her number anymore," she almost sounded regretful. "Besides, we've never really been friends."

"What if I write a script about you and her?" He freed his hands from his pockets. "What if the web series is based on it?"

"That's a big what if." She contemplated the proposal.

"It'll be awesome," he got lost in his own thoughts. "It'll be like a mirror thing. Two set ups. One apartment. Two people in the same body."

"Berry and I are nothing alike," Quinn crashed his creative flow.

"Yeah," he sighed, "it'll be awesome." He ignored her. "The big reveal in the end is that these two enemies share the same body, the same lives, the same desires…awesome."

"You're not listening to me anymore, are you?" She pointlessly asked.

"My computer cursor shall make you a legend," he finally looked to her. "Awesome."

She rolled her eyes. "Just buy me a cup of coffee."

INTERLUDES (RACHEL)

She made a dramatic entrance into their rehearsal space. Her fellow actors were gathered together overlooking an electronic tablet.

"What are you doing?" She shrieked. "We are supposed to be rehearsing. Opening night is in five days and we are not being paid to socialize."

"Shut up, Rachel," the group said as one.

"The last episode was just posted and we want to see how it ends," Jessica explained.

"The last episode of what?" Rachel moved towards the group. "What could possibly be more…"

"Shut up!" The group demanded once more.

"Well, I never," she indignantly whispered as she shoved herself further into the group so that she could better look at what had their undivided attention.

Once she was close enough to clearly see the image on the small screen, she reached out and ripped the tablet away from the hands it had been grasped in. "Quinn!" she yelled in surprise. "What is she doing?"

"Hey!" The group protested.

"You're going to make us miss it," Keith complained.

"Sorry," Rachel quickly apologized as she stretched out her arms so that everyone could look at the screen.

They all started watching the action on the screen play out. Like Jessica had said, it was the final episode of the web series and they had been promised a big finale. Rachel silently watched along with her peers. She gasped and laughed in all the appropriate places. The series was well-written and well-acted. It also happened to star Quinn Fabray. Her Quinn Fabray from Lima, Ohio. The same Quinn Fabray who had been in Glee club with her in high school for three years. The same Quinn Fabray who had…

Well, it was the same Quinn Fabray from high school. The same brown eyed girl.

"I'll want my tablet back," Keith said, "I'm not giving you to you or anything."

"W-what?" Rachel asked confused and then quickly realized she still held the device in her hands. She had been staring at the screen sucking up every detail presented to her in the still image of Quinn Fabray.

"You look a little pale," Keith reached over and took his tablet.

"Yes well," Rachel pulled herself back into the moment. She had a rehearsal to get through. Opening night was less than a week away. "Are you all ready to begin working now or are you going to continue watching subpar material?"

"Get over yourself, Rachel," Jessica muttered.

"I refuse to work with actors who do not take this seriously," Rachel haughtily declared. "Please call me when you all decide to take your careers seriously." She rolled her shoulders back, looked around the room judging each set of eyes that dared to meet hers, and then stormed out. She brushed by the producers and directors as she left, not bothering to explain where it was she was going or why it was she was leaving.

She grabbed her bag on the way out of the theatre, and then walked to the nearest café. She found a seat, sat down, pulled out her phone and headphones and then quickly typed in the website for the Quinn's web series. She clicked on the link for the first episode. It played to the end and then she played the next, and the next, and the next. She played them all until she watched the finale for a second time.

As the credits rolled on the final episode, she noticed that there had been a special thanks offered to one R. Berry, and Rachel was conceited enough to believe that the thanks had been offered to her. She didn't completely understand why the credit had been given. She was inclined to believe that it had something to do with Quinn taking a poke at her in some way. She couldn't be certain that it was supposed to be vindictive in any way. Though, it did leave Rachel with the image of Quinn saying in a sing-songy voice, "Anything you can do/ I can do better."

Rachel looked over the website again her eyes drawn to the link that sent comments to the cast. Her finger hovered over her phone and then dropped heavily on the link. A new window popped open and her fingers hovered again. She didn't know what she wanted to type. She didn't know if Quinn would even ever see any nearly perfect comeback Rachel could come up with. Rachel could be wasting her wit on someone undeserving.

Still…such an insult to her character could not be ignored.

She sent her comment to whomever might end up reading it, gathered her things and then headed back to the theatre. Opening night was only five days away.

(INTERLUDES)

"Success," Alex began his speech, "is me standing here in front of you all not completely insane from making this thing happen." For a man who was good with written words, he wasn't very good at speeches. Still, Quinn enjoyed the shortness of it. She clapped along with the apartment's other occupants. They were celebrating the last episode of their web series cheap pizza and cheap beer.

Quinn mingled with the crowd for long as she felt it necessary and then silently departed. She hadn't wanted to go to the party in the first place, but she knew it was best for her to be a team player. Alex was the first friend she had made since coming to California and she didn't want to push him away. She didn't necessarily want to pull him in closer either, but she thought it was good she had started to socialize again.

She walked back to her dorm and then shuffled to her room. Her roommate had gone home for the weekend so she had the room to herself. She could do anything she wanted, but she chose to sit down at her desk and turn on her laptop so that she could work on her homework.

Her dedication waned immediately after she began reading her assignment. She distracted herself by going to the website her series had been hosted on. She fast forwarded through the latest episode. She wasn't drawn into the story since she was too focused on how she looked through each scene. She pressed play once she had reached the credits. Alex had gotten permission to use a local band's song to play during the end credits.

Quinn listened to the song as she scrolled down and read the comments left by viewers. She hated the criticisms but loved the praise. The comments almost made her feel like she hadn't been completely out of her mind when she decided to sign on to Alex's project.

"This is a perfectly executed exhibition of mediocrity," she read aloud. The comment had been signed under the pseudonym Broadway.

Quinn leaned back in her chair with a smile on her face. "So she did watch it. Leave it to Berry to seek out anything with her name on it."

Quinn flexed her fingers and then began typing, and smiled as she clicked on the reply button.

Across the country Rachel Berry was just sitting down in front of her computer. She was curled up on her mattress on the floor in her tiny apartment. She was intent on researching some method in which she could improve the lighting of her most recent production, but for some reason she ended up typing in the web address for Quinn's web series. The page quickly loaded and Rachel navigated to the comments.

"I'm glad you thought it was perfect," she read and immediately realized that Quinn had just been sitting around waiting for her initial comment. She had known that Quinn was jealous of her success.

She quickly typed out a reply and just as quickly got a response. The conversation made her feel like she was back in high school. The years in between began to peel away. She and Quinn traded barbs like they had never spent any time apart. Email addresses were exchanged, but neither of them bothered to ask for a phone number.

They weren't old friends reconnecting. But still, it felt good to talk to someone who could help fight off the isolation they had each fallen into. The night ended with Rachel excusing herself due to an early morning rehearsal and Quinn needing to work on her assignment, but before either of them could sign off Rachel asked one more question.

"Why was I added to the ending credits?"

"Two halves of the same whole," Quinn replied. "At least that's what Alex thinks."

Rachel had more questions but she was afraid to ask them. "Goodnight," she typed instead and then closed her laptop.

Quinn read Rachel's last word. She would have felt disappointed that her last comment had been ignored if she hadn't been so breathless at having told the truth. She could have lied and said something just as snide and bitchy as she would have said only a couple of years ago. She could have never responded at all.

She could have done nothing. They could have never started…whatever it was that had just begun between her and Rachel. They could have their separate happy endings, but Alex had been so damn persistent about his stupid story. He had made up this fictional tale in his head and Quinn had fallen into its world.

Seemed like, though, Rachel had fallen into it too.


	12. Chapter 12

HE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN US

(INTERLUDES: LEONA CONROE)

She has always hated the audition process. It is a constant letdown to the optimists filling the room. It is a despicable reminder that lowered expectations make life easier to live through. Still, like many things in life, it is a necessary process of elimination overfilled with varied opinions and no immediate consensus. The casting directors have their favorite, the assistants have another. By the time the tapes make it to her screen she is handed a choice between A, B, C or D. She doesn't see the thousands that came and took a chance on a dream. She just sees A, B, C or D and if none of them catch her interest she tells them to do it all over again, and no one wants to hear that.

When casting directors are told that their process failed to offer results they start getting worried about their jobs. Getting it right the first time around offers job security, and since they don't want to be accused of failure they shift the blame elsewhere. It is the assistants' faults, and then the assistants blame the agencies for sending over talentless hacks. If the client is big enough, the agent might get fired for not being sensitive to their multi-billionaire client's needs.

And all of this mess is conjured up for the starring role in a sitcom pilot that might never make it to the small screen. The blame for the overall failure starts trickling down again until it stops at the foot of someone who is ultimately undeserving. Perhaps it is the gopher's fault for bringing decaf coffee on Monday instead of regular. Perhaps it is the second assistant's fault for not reading the director's mind when he said it was to be one camera angle instead of another.

So, yes, she always hates the audition process but she has always sort of loved it as well. This has been her life since she was a child too young to even read. This has been her constant companion when she couldn't make other friends because of her loaded work schedule. This has been her lover when her life had been too public for anyone else to take a chance in entering it. This has been her life. By choice, this has been her life and she loves her life.

She loves the wealth. She loves the power. She loves that people walking into her office feel intimidated by her. She loves that she lives the life that so many people envy.

But, she hates that if she had been given a choice in the very beginning that she would have chosen a life so very different than this one. She won't admit that to anyone, of course. She knows that being wealthy and powerful and complaining about her life is not anything anyone wants to hear. People see her privileges and ignore the disadvantages, and that's exactly how it should be.

She doesn't wish to garner anyone's sympathy. She doesn't want to air a woe is me confession on an intimate interview about her hopes and dreams. She doesn't want…much of anything really. She likes not being understood. She wants to be a mystery. She likes the control it gives her.

"Leona, Rachel Berry is here for her appointment," Leona's assistant announces. "Are you ready to see her?"

"Yeah, send her back." She closes her laptop and then runs her hands through her hair. It's been a busy morning for her. She's been busy reviewing the audition tapes. She insists on watching every audition since she doesn't trust the people she pays to do the job. They have a habit of showing her only the people they think she wants to see. They make uneducated guesses based on what type of person they think she is. Their opinions always make her work that much harder, but it is work she is willing to do.

"You look exhausted," Rachel says as she walks into the office.

"A price I am willing to pay," she admits. "What is it I can do for you?"

Rachel takes a seat and Leona can easily see that the actress in front of her has prepared a monologue. She leans back and maneuvers into a comfortable position as she waits for Rachel to begin.

Rachel takes a deep breath, her mouth opens but she doesn't say a word. She stands back up and then nervously begins to pace the length of the office. She mumbles something that Leona can't hear, but Leona doesn't ask Rachel to repeat it. She has been in the casting chair more than once and knows not to interrupt the brilliance or train wreck that is happening in front of her.

"I'd like to think I can do it all, but it doesn't seem possible anymore," Rachel finally speaks loud enough for Leona to hear her. "I'm suddenly starting to feel more like an adult than I ever have before. I'm starting to understand my parents and their choice to settle down in Lima, Ohio. I always assumed that they just didn't have as big of dreams as I did. I thought that they didn't have the ambition or the desire to do bigger and better things. Lima, Ohio was enough for them because they lacked…something.

"But, in reality they don't lack anything. They didn't get stuck and then just give up. They got what they wanted, did what they wanted and somewhere in the middle decided that their childhood dreams couldn't compare to the life they etched out together.

"They have supported me all my life. They took me to all the competitions, bought me all the voice lessons and acting lessons, and stood by me through everything, but they always told me that there was more to life than performing. They always said that there was more to life than awaiting applause from a room full of strangers, and they were right. There is more to it and Quinn is set on us making this work but she means more to me than this series.

"I want to do it all, but I don't want to do it all if it means my wife doesn't get the parts of me she deserves, because she deserves the best parts." Rachel's words wind down to a halt. She is breathing heavily as her monologue ends.

Leona quickly finishes her assessment. She checks off boxes against her mental rating system. Was Rachel good enough? Was her speech over the top or just right?

"What are you asking of me?" Leona decides her line. She is writing the scene out in her head as they go along.

"Maybe in a year," Rachel prevaricates, "we can revisit the series."

Leona smirks. "Superstar, the world keeps turning even if you're not in it." She enjoys reminding Rachel about the bigger scheme of things. Rachel is not the Sun. Earth does not revolve around her.

Still, Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry represent millions of dollars to Leona, more than millions. They are commodities like any other person who enters the entertainment industry. They are to be bought and sold until they are no longer socially relevant.

She gives them leeway. She allows them space to grow. She pushes them forward when necessary. She even agreed to be Quinn's supporting actress in Supergirl so that the series didn't stall out as a trilogy. She spread rumors about onset affairs between her and Quinn and even made sure they were seen in public together so that she could absorb some of the media pressures that had built after the discovery of Quinn's daughter.

Leona Conroe has had Quinn Fabray's and Rachel Berry's careers resting in the palm of her hand. She is benevolent, protective…thoughtful.

"The series will go on as planned with you in it." She gets up from her chair and approaches Rachel. "You and Quinn will make it work." Millions of dollars worth of investment will force them to make it work. "And if you need anything let me know."

"Do you really think it's possible?" Rachel asks because she trusts Leona and she needs someone to talk to. She needs someone in her life that has known about her life with Quinn since the very beginning.

Leona gives her best smile. She wraps her warm hand around Rachel's wrist. She looks Rachel in the eye and promises, "It's possible."

It is the push that Rachel needs. Rachel's body relaxes and she is recommitted to the future. They will all make it work.

Leona's hand falls away from Rachel's wrist. She steps away from the smaller woman standing next to her. "You should go back to the dress rehearsal. I'll eagerly await your report on how much better it could be."

Rachel softly laughs. She is renewed. "Thank you."

"Of course." Leona returns to her desk and then sits back down. She opens her laptop back up. Rachel leaves her office and everything is back on track. Leona watches Rachel leave and then calls her assistant into the office.

Her assistant enters a few moments later. "What's up?" She asks.

Leona Conroe is benevolent, protective, thoughtful…

"I've been looking over these audition tapes and all of these people are useless." Leona leans back in her chair. She crosses her arms across her chest completely disgusted by the tapes she's seen. "Fire the casting agency. I need superstars, Nikki. I need another Quinn Fabray. Let's start planning on replacing her."

Nikki's eyes widen. "Do I need to get with legal so that they can send a letter to her manager about buying out her contracts?"

"No," Leona quickly decides, "I like the idea of her knowing that she owes me hundreds of millions of dollars."

Nikki makes a quick note on the notepad she brought in with her. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah," Leona uncrosses her arms, "cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. I am going home."

"If you insist," Nikki jokes. "It must be nice to be the boss."

"You remember that the next time Rachel Berry calls in for an emergency appointment," Leona replies.

"Touché," Nikki looks up from her notepad. "You have a good afternoon, Boss."

Leona gathers her things. She signs off of her laptop and within the span of five minutes has completely left the building. She gets into her expensive car and then drives to her expensive home. It's her home in Los Angeles, not her loft in New York or her little cottage off the coast of Spain.

She gets out of her car and then walks into her home. She throws her stuff on her couch and then moves further into her home. She walks straight to the bar, pulls out two glasses and then fills them each with vodka. She drinks down one glass and then quickly fills it again.

"You trying to beat a record or something?"

She doesn't look up from the glass. She isn't interested in meeting her companion's eyes. "Just celebrating another day that hasn't killed me yet."

"Oh," the voice draws closer, "you're in one of those moods."

"Since when do I have moods?" She drinks down her refill. "I'm fucking perfect."

Warm arms wrap around her waist. "You're fucking crazy."

She picks up the second glass and then hands it over her shoulder. "Those are just rumors, Baby."

The glass is taken out of her hand. "Those the same kind of rumors going around about you and that whore?"

She narrows her eyes trying to think back to a particular rumor. "Which whore?"

The arm still around her waist squeezes forcing her to spill some of the liquid in her glass onto the hardwood floor. "You're the whore." The whisper caresses her ear and she falls into the husky voice speaking to her very soul.

"Don't go telling my secrets," she says as she pours herself another drink. This time, she's not as quick to bring the glass to her lips. She isn't trying to get drunk. She's just set on enjoying herself for the next few hours she gets to be herself.

Her lover is in town and neither of them has to pretend to be anyone else. They have been together for years yet remain undiscovered. But unlike Rachel and Quinn, they are not chasing after a happily ever after. They chase down the Just For Now. It's all they can live with. It's all Leona can live with.

Because Leona Conroe is benevolent, protective, thoughtful… but she is also ruthless, conniving, manipulative and holds more than one person's career in the palms of her hands. Her motivations were often more simple than anyone could guess. She just wants to hold on, for now.

This is the world she grew up in. This is her existence. There is no giving it up. There's no turning her back on it. This is the life she has chosen.

She is everyone's best friend. She is perfect. She is powerful. She is the woman every other woman wants to be.

The arm around her waist slides down. "I brought you a present."

She smirks and looks down at the hand maneuvering into her pants. "Did you hide it in my underwear?"

"No, that's where my present is." The body behind her presses in closer. The glass gets put back down on the bar.

She closes her eyes so soak up the moment. When she opens them again there are two capsules lying in front of her.

"Your choice, Love." The hand in her pants stills. "Do you want to take the blue pill or the white one?"

"Blue is my favorite color," she moans before she leans down and licks the pill up. She chases it with the rest of her vodka and then finally turns around. "Welcome home."


	13. Chapter 13

ORDINARY LIFE

She doesn't believe in second chances, because she knows that things only ever happen once. There is no magical device that allows for a do-over. Everything happens in the seconds and once those seconds pass they are gone forever. That's why it is so important to her that she gets the next seconds right. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. Her life flashes before her eyes and she thinks it's sort of ridiculous that this moment can be related to the seconds before death.

She is not about to die. No one's life is in danger. Everyone is alive and well, but being alive and well doesn't negate the fact that she is about to change everything. So maybe she is about to commit a homicide. She's killing her normal life. She's slashing it up and leaving it in such a condition that it will never look the way it did before.

She takes another breath and then opens her eyes. She raises her hand, knocks on the solid wooden door in front of her and waits. She hears voices behind the door quickly deciding who will greet their visitor. It sounds like such an outrageously normal thing and that hint of normal makes her feel drastically out of her element.

The door swings open and surprised brown eyes greet her. "Quinn? What are you doing here?"

It's been over a year since they've seen each other. It's probably been more than a year, but she hasn't been keeping track. She never keeps track. "Hi, Noah" She shifts her stance trying to push away her nerves. "I um…wanted to talk to you."

"You what?" He asks. "Why?"

She opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by a four year old pushing his head through the door. "Who is it, Daddy?"

Noah sidesteps so that his son can see around him. "It's no one, Little Man. Go back inside and help your mother with putting the stuff together."

The boy's eyes widen as he looks up to the woman standing outside of his house. "Is that Supergirl?" He jumps around his father. "You got me Supergirl for my birthday!"

Quinn bites her bottom lip, holding back the smile that desperately tries to make an appearance. She's used to this now. She's used to children shaking from excitement when they recognize her. She's used to being seen as an icon.

"It's not Supergirl," Noah pulls his son back into the house. "Now go back and help your mom."

The boy's eyes turn to his father, disbelief clearly written across his face. "It's Supergirl, Dad."

Quinn leans down towards the boy and then taps him on the shoulder to get his attention. He quickly turns back to her with glee written across his face because Supergirl has come to his birthday party and that makes him special.

"I am Supergirl," she whispers to him, "but you can't tell anyone I'm here. It's a secret. I'm on a very special mission. You can keep a secret, can't you?"

The boy nods his head vigorously and then turns to run back into the house. Once he disappears from view they hear him yell, "Mom, Daddy is talking to Supergirl!"

Noah shrugs and then shoves his hands in his front pockets. "He can't keep a secret."

"Yeah, I can see that." She brushes her hair behind her ear. "What's his name?" She starts ticking the years off in her head, trying to figure out if she should know Noah's son, if she should know that Noah has a son. Who would have told her about it? Who would have thought that she'd care?

"Noah Junior," he answers. "So what are you doing here, Quinn? We're about to get overrun with a bunch of four year olds who will want you to dress up…wait you don't have the costume with you do you?" He asks with a hopeful spark shining in his eyes.

She shakes her head. "No, I don't usually carry it around with me."

"Well then what do you want?" Noah asks again. "When I answered the door I was expecting the magician."

"I know I should have called." She is already wishing for a do-over. "This is a bad time, but I thought that if I talked to you over the phone then I'd talk myself out of…everything. But, I'll go. We can do this another time."

She turns to leave but his voice calls her back, "You're really something else, you know that Quinn?"

"I don't know what you mean," she whispers.

"I didn't bother to wait on you," he tells her. "I've been a father to Beth as much as I could be with her living halfway across the freakin' country."

"Good," she meets his eyes, "that's good."

"You're going to talk to her, right?" He takes a step towards her. "You need to talk to her. She's always had a lot of questions that I can't answer."

"I'm going to talk to her," she concedes.

"You bringing Berry with you?"

"If Rachel wants to come," she answers choosing not to wonder why he would bring Rachel up at all.

He pulls his hands out of his pockets and then swipes his left hand through his hair. "Beth's my baby girl so if you hurt her I'm going to have to hurt you, okay?"

"I'll try not to hurt her," she promises glad that he has been brave enough to face the situation she has been running from. He has always been more eager to do the right thing when it came to their daughter than she has ever been. Her selfishness and fear often drove her actions. She excelled at running away from things while standing completely still. She disconnects and has been disconnected from her firstborn long before Beth had ever been born.

Circumstances forced her to connect again. Random circumstances drove her to this second chance and yet she still isn't really sure of what she's doing. She's not entirely sure why she needed to see Noah Puckerman before she risks being introduced to her daughter. She just knows that he is her only connection to Beth. He is her warm-up to the real thing.

"Noah!" the yell comes from within the house. "Did you hire some random woman to dress up as Supergirl?" the voice draws closer and Quinn looks behind her seeking a quick escape. She hasn't really come to Noah to interact with his family. The thought of sticking around to see this exhibit of Middle-America-normal fills her with unease and a tinge of regret.

"I should go," she whispers.

"Whatever," Noah shrugs and moves to close the door, but their goodbyes come too late.

Quinn is spotted and elicits a surprised gasp from Noah's wife. "Noah, that's Supergirl."

"It's Quinn actually," Quinn takes a step back, "Quinn Fabray. It's nice to meet you."

"Oh wow," Noah's wife emits a surprised whisper, "you're Supergirl." She turns to her husband. "You really did get Supergirl for NJ's birthday."

"No I didn't," Noah shakes his head. "I went to high school with Quinn. She came by to talk about Beth."

"Beth," the other woman's face shows clear confusion. "What about Beth?"

Noah points at Quinn. "She's the Baby Mama," he says in way of explanation.

The juvenile moniker causes Quinn's heart to speed up. She's never openly laid claim to being anyone's mother. At least, not like this—not face to face with a stranger whose opinion might actually matter. She's owned up to it in press releases and strategic internet postings. She's owned up to it when her inhibitions are low and the long lost past creeps up on her like a sense of déjà vu, but never as a way of introduction.

"Noah," the woman slaps her husband on the arm, "are you telling me that the Quinn Fabray is the one you've been talking about all this time?"

"Yeah," Noah responds incredulity written across his creased brow. "Who the hell did you think I was talking about?"

Quinn harshly clears her throat, gaining the attention of the couple standing in front of her. "I should probably go," she points her right hand over her shoulder as if the action will somehow relieve her from the awkwardness sooner.

"Wait," the woman calls out to her, "I'm sorry." She's shakes her head to wipe away Noah's consequential oversight. "I'm Amy."

"Amy," Quinn repeats, "it's nice to meet you." She pauses for a polite moment and then adds, "I should still probably be going. I don't want to crash the party."

"No, no you should stay. NJ would love for you to stay."

"I don't think," Quinn begins to refuse but Amy quickly cuts her off.

"Stay," Amy reaches out to grab Quinn's hand. "It is within your power at this very moment to make a group of four years olds insanely happy."

Quinn looks down at the hand wrapped around her own and then to Noah. His eyes meet hers and she can easily read his uncertainty. He seems no more thrilled with the idea of her entering into his personal life than she is. Her mind randomly provides her with snapshots of her life throughout the last few years and exactly how it is that Noah Puckerman has fitted into it.

She did not attend his first wedding, barely knew about his divorce and can only guess that she has been told about this new marriage. She did not know about his son nor did she really know about his life past the occasional piece of FYI she received from her mother. She knows so little about Noah that she can't help but look at him like he is still that delinquent boy from high school. Her brain doesn't have enough information to tell her eyes to look at him like he's a man with an insanely normal wife and a carbon copy for a son who lives in a nice house, in a safe neighborhood, in a quiet town located a million miles away from Quinn's reality.

"Come inside," Noah offers. "The magician I hired sucks."

Amy pulls Quinn further into the house. Her grip doesn't loosen. She holds tight as if she suspects Quinn is still a flight risk. "The other kids should be arriving soon," she explains. "They're going to go ballistic when they see you."

"It'll be fun," Quinn says loud enough for everyone to hear, but the comment is her self-provided pep talk. "I'm happy I could help make this day special for NJ."

"Sure," Noah snorts. "Your happiness is written clear across your face. Though, some people might confuse it for terror, but you know," he shrugs, "whatever."

"Nevermind him," Amy instructs. "He's just upset that he'll no longer be the most popular person in the room. He hates sharing the spotlight."

Quinn keeps a smile on her face as she takes in a deep breath. The doorbell rings and within moments she is surround by children all clamoring for her attention. They want her to fly. They want her to blast holes through the wall with her heat vision and want her to tear the house apart with her strength. They want her to be the person she's pretended to be, and Quinn quickly finds herself at a loss.

She is overwhelmed though this is not the first time she has been asked to put on a show for the benefit of a few overly excited children. She's done fundraisers and special appearances, so many of them that she has lost count. But, for some reason all of this feels vastly different than all the other times she's been asked to perform. She silently curses at the world blaming it for all the reasons why her wife can't currently be at her side.

Rachel is sequestered away in a nice safe studio lot where an ordinary life is something created by a production team instead of the luck of the draw. Quinn had told Rachel to stay while she took a quick trip back to Ohio that would last not even a day. She planned on being back home ready to fall into Rachel's arms by early evening. She did not plan on needing a much needed buffer between her and a pack of over stimulated children.

Quinn closes her eyes and pictures what her wife would be saying right now. Her lips slowly widen into a smile as she imagines Rachel calmly explaining the difference between real life and pretend. Rachel would probably have all the kids making up some Imagination Land where they all could fly and knock down buildings a hundred stories high.

Quinn opens her eyes and softly laughs at how Rachel could solve her problems without even being present and without even knowing about them.

"Okay!" Quinn claps her hands together gaining everyone's attention. "So, raise your hand if you've ever wanted to fly?" She raises her hand and looks around as all the four year olds surrounding her eagerly shoot their hands up in the air. "Awesome," she smiles and nods her head, "because today each one of you are going to learn to how to fly on your own. But first, I want to tell you about my favorite place in the whole wide world, Imagination Land."

Quinn clears a spot on the floor and when she finally gets a chance to look at a clock again it's two and a half hours later and the group of four year olds in her presence has dwindled back down to one. A rush of fatigue overwhelms her and she wants nothing more than to rest her head in Rachel's lap and fall asleep.

"Now, it wasn't so bad was it?" Amy leans against the same kitchen counter Quinn has escaped to.

Quinn thinks back over the last few hours and how she destroyed buildings made of boxes and discovered a country named Khaki Land where all the people had blue skin and purple eyes. "No," she grins, "it wasn't so bad."

Amy crosses her arms across her chest. "Today was a good day, Quinn. I can see why the whole world worships you."

"I'm not sure that's quite how it works," Quinn demurs. "There are plenty people out there who want nothing more than to tear me apart."

"There are plenty of people out there who want nothing more than to tear me apart," Amy rejoins. "PTA moms can be vicious when you give non-organic cookies to their children. I'm still trying to live that mistake down and prove that I'm worthy of their judgmental presence."

"You didn't?" Quinn feigns outrage.

"I only made the mistake the one time," Amy defends. "But it doesn't really matter because I'm the mom who wants all the children to die from early onset diabetes since I brought an unhealthy snack in the first place."

They both dissolve into laughter.

"I probably shouldn't admit this," Quinn says as her laughter dies down, "but I suddenly feel like eating a non-organic cookie."

"I think we're fresh out of sugar, organic and otherwise. We were wiped clean by the ravenous beasts you were entertaining." Amy takes a quick look around. "I can only offer you healthy food."

"I can get that back in New York." Quinn jokingly waves off the offer.

"New York? I thought I read somewhere that you lived in Los Angeles."

It's odd, Quinn realizes, how many details about her life have become part of the public domain. The world is filled with little factoids about her life, and complete strangers connect to her in ways she is not able to reciprocate. "Rach's new series films in New York, and I'm taking a personal hiatus, so New York is home now."

"You are a fascinatingly complicated woman," Amy whispers as she shakes her head. "So," she draws out the word and lifts her eyes to meet Quinn's, "Rach? Is that short for Rachel?"

"It's short for Rachel Berry," Quinn clarifies. She thinks she is prepared for the rapid firing of synapses in Amy's brain that are frantically connecting all the dotted details of her life.

It doesn't take long before Amy asks, "You live with Rachel Berry?"

Quinn bows her head and reminds herself that she doesn't believe in second chances. She then lifts her eyes to meet Amy's. "Yes," she whispers, "Rachel and I are married."

Amy's mouth opens but no words are immediately articulated.

The silence is filled by Noah. "When did that happen?"

Quinn turns to Noah. She quickly meets his eyes, but can't maintain the contact because she suddenly feels ashamed. She is shamed by the fact that she has been married for over four years and the first person she freely admits her marriage to is a stranger. She is shamed by the fact that Noah overheard when he should have been told years ago that she found her happiness.

"A while ago," she admits.

"Was my invitation lost in the mail?"

Noah's question reminds Quinn of how successful she is at running away from the pieces of her life that she wished into nonexistence. Noah doesn't think she's revealed anything worthy of a front page tabloid spread; he thinks he was excluded and ignored. He expects to not know about Quinn's life and expects her to not know about his. Her admittance is not a revelation but a reminder of the distance between them.

"I don't think it was the kind of wedding where invitations were sent out, Babe," Amy chimes in as Quinn quickly becomes imbedded in her own thoughts.

Noah squints, trying to make sense of his wife's words. "Wait, am I the first to know?"

"No," Quinn shakes her head, "not the first…one of the first but…" her words die off.

"Cool." Noah puffs up with self-importance.

"I should get going," Quinn looks towards the nearest exit. "I have a flight to catch."

"You don't have to leave, Quinn," Amy offers. "You could stay the night if you want, catch a flight tomorrow."

"Thank you, but I can't," Quinn smiles weakly. "I need to get back home." She gathers her thing and then walks to the door. Noah and Amy follow her. She doesn't offer any lingering goodbyes and stops just short of apologizing to Noah for waiting so long to see him again but decides against it. It's not a conversation she wants to begin, at least not now.

It isn't until she's sitting on the airplane, halfway back to New York that she realizes that she's committed murder to her ordinary life.

Countdown

Quinn knew that there was a fight brewing between her and Rachel. Things had been left unsaid for the sake of harmony. Unfortunately, harmony became embodied by stinted words and half-hearted smiles. Their brewing battle evolved into a silent war, and the silent war morphed into a contest of wills.

No matter the form, Quinn admitted, she and Rachel were excellent at fighting with each other. They broke it down into an intricate interpretive dance. Quinn moved one way, Rachel moved another and somehow they managed to become entangled without actually touching.

"We should be damn good at it," Quinn whispered to the empty room. "We've been doing it since we were kids." She ran her hand through her hair and then refocused her attention on the script her agent had sent over. She was supposed to have read it two weeks ago, but she hadn't been able to focus on anything else but the fight she wasn't having with her wife.

"This is stupid," she growled and threw the script away from her. It fell harmlessly onto the floor, disturbing nothing in its wake. The harmless act left Quinn feeling even more unsatisfied. She wanted to vent her emotions, but in order to do that effectively she would have to turn her non-argument with her wife into an actual argument.

Quinn briefly wondered if other married people had the same experiences she had had with her wife thus far. It was hard for her to compare their relationship to any other because she didn't feel like they could easily be compared to anyone else. She felt that what they had was so…different. Nothing about them was ordinary or average. They lived extraordinary lives in extraordinary circumstances and their status quo had worked, but it couldn't work forever.

That was really the heart of their discord. What they had couldn't work forever.

Quinn couldn't continue to live in her house in California while Rachel lived in hers in New York. They couldn't live two different lives and always hope to meet in the middle. The middle was growing narrower no matter the effort they made to keep connected. A life together and a life apart…they could make that work, of that Quinn was sure, but they could only make it work if their life together was more than the equivalency of two sailboats passing under the full moon of a cloudless night sky.

"Stupid!" Quinn shouted and jumped up from her casual pose. She hated that the simplest things with Rachel always turned out to be the most complicated. She hated that even not fighting with Rachel made her feel so…unresolved. She felt out of control and she wanted to yell and scream about it, but she would only be yelling and screaming to herself.

Quinn marched towards the nearest window, and then pulled at the curtain to look at the snow covered ground below. In that moment, she hated snow and reminded herself how much she hated New York. She consoled herself with the fact that she would be leaving soon.

New Years had come and gone. It was time for Quinn to go back to Los Angeles and she needed to talk to her agent about this movie that Leona Conroe was producing. It was time to get back to the cameras and the lights. It was time for her to go back to the spotlight.

It really didn't matter if her argument with Rachel ever actually turned into a verbal showdown. The argument would hold. They could put it off until they were once again standing in the same room facing the same circumstances.

Quinn shut her eyes, blocking out the external stimuli as best she could. Her mind quickly drifted back to the last few days she had spent with her wife. They had gone to Lima for Christmas, like always. It was the only way they could spend the holiday together and with their families without too many questions being asked.

They hopped from one house to the other, hurriedly rushing through the holiday with excuses of a busy, busy life waiting on them. They left together the day after Christmas and returned to New York to spend the New Year kissing in a crowd of millions of others ringing in the their hopes for the upcoming year.

Quinn could still feel Rachel's lips pressing against hers as the countdown wound down to zero. When they pulled apart, Quinn started feeling that bit of an ache in the pit of her stomach that steadily grew as their time together began its own countdown.

Quinn placed one hand over her stomach and with the other brushed her fingers across her lips.

They couldn't do this forever.

"You have no right to interfere with my career," Rachel invaded Quinn's memories. "We had an agreement and I expect you to adhere to it."

Quinn shook her head and slowly opened her eyes. "I've been here all day reading that script Marcus sent over." She pointed in the general direction she had thrown the script to.

Rachel's eyes followed Quinn's gesture. She saw the script on the floor and then raised her brow. "It's on the floor."

Quinn shrugged. "I'm trying to construct the character."

Rachel's brow lifted higher in disbelief. "I question your dedication."

"So do I," Quinn agreed as she reached out and grabbed hold of Rachel's waist. She pulled Rachel closer to her, unsurprised that she was met with no resistance. "Tell me how I'm interfering with your career," she softly demanded as she wrapped her arms more firmly around her wife.

"I couldn't remember my lines, because you are so stubborn," Rachel accused, her tone matching Quinn's. "Why can't you just agree that moving to New York would be for the best?"

"And why is New York the only place in the world you can live?" Quinn quickly rejoined.

"New York is my dream, Quinn, you know that," Rachel whispered. "Los Angeles doesn't mean as much to you."

Quinn took a deep breath and then released a heavy sigh. She could tell they were about to start yelling. She freed her hold on Rachel and then took half a step away. If she didn't create the small distance between them she knew that their verbal argument could quickly turn into sexual release instead…another form of fighting they were good at.

"New York is your dream Rachel, not mine. If I move here we both know that we…us," she motioned between their bodies, "will be consumed by your dream."

Rachel shook her head. "Why are you so threatened by my aspirations?" She asked exasperated. "Why don't you believe that I can make room for you?"

"God, Rachel, do you not hear yourself?" Quinn took another step back. "Living here will swallow our marriage up."

Rachel placed her hands on her hips. "And it won't be swallowed up if we live in Los Angeles?" She asked snidely. "I refuse to be your supporting actress, Quinn. Do you know how few Broadway actors successfully make the transition into television and movies?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Since when do you worry about not being talented enough?"

"I'm not, but Broadway didn't just magically happen for me, Quinn. I exhausted myself going to every audition I could get wind of. I sung with everything I had and I was repeatedly told that I wasn't good enough or that I wasn't lead material. And now that I'm actually respected you want me to give up my dream."

"When did I ask you to do that?" Quinn screeched. "I would never ask that."

"You won't move to New York," Rachel pointed out as if that was all the evidence she needed to prove that she was right.

"Because you have to fit me in your," Quinn pointed at Rachel, "schedule, and we both know I'm not good at coming in second place." Her self-esteem would overwhelm her with doubts and nothing Rachel could say would make things okay again. "Our relationship wouldn't survive it."

"You are always so quick to point out the flaws derived from my ego, but when are you going to point out the flaws from the lack of your own self-worth?" Rachel knew as soon as the words left her mouth that she was very close to crossing a boundary she had never crossed before, but she wouldn't place this argument on hold again. "When will you believe in us, in me? How many years will it take?"

Quinn crossed her arms protectively across her torso. "Every time you've had to make a choice," she whispered, "you've always chosen your career first."

"That's not…" Rachel tried to deny Quinn's words, but wasn't given the chance.

"Don't!" Quinn interjected. "Don't pretend that you didn't do anything and everything to get your dream. You left everyone in Lima behind."

Rachel pointed an accusing finger at Quinn. "So did you!"

"That's different," Quinn turned away from Rachel's accusation.

It was different. Rachel had been running towards something; she hadn't been running away like Quinn, but the results had been the same. They had forgotten about everyone. They had lost touch and hadn't quite managed to care enough to reconnect. They made room for their families, but even that time was hurried and never quite managed to be more than a drive-by hello and goodbye.

"I can't live in Los Angeles," Rachel said, her body deflated from regret she often didn't allow herself to acknowledge. She wouldn't give up her dream…not even for Quinn.

"And I won't live in New York." Quinn said, her arms finally dropped from her protective hold. "I won't." She wouldn't watch as Rachel slowly took her for granted.

"In a way," Rachel forced enthusiasm into her voice, "us having this conversation is a sign as to how much our relationship has matured."

Quinn grinned. "You know, Rach, sometimes it surprises me that I'm the one that was the cheerleader."

"You could always try joining in on my attempt at infusing some positivity into this conversation instead of mocking it for a change," Rachel groused.

"I could," Quinn replied her voice lacking its usual sarcasm. She reached out towards Rachel again and only had to wait a single breath for their bodies to be entwined once more. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to have a happily ever after," Rachel pronounced.

"We can't count on magic fairy dust to make that happen," Quinn needlessly pointed out.

Rachel dropped her head onto Quinn's shoulder. "I love you."

The ache in the pit of Quinn's stomach grew stronger. Their countdown was quickly approaching zero. Quinn's plane was scheduled to leave the next day. When her flight landed she'd be swept back up in her life that didn't quite include Rachel.

"I love you." Quinn pulled Rachel in more tightly.

Rachel lifted her head just enough to brush her lips against Quinn's neck. It was their last night together and neither of them wanted to end it with an argument. That's what had inspired their attempt at harmony in the first place, but harmony wasn't quite their forte. They were both too strong willed and too eager to be proven right to maintain artificial accord.

"If I let you make love to me," Rachel whispered as she softly brushed her lips across the smooth expanse of Quinn's neck, "don't think that you've won this argument."

"Okay." Quinn rolled her head back to grant Rachel better access. "If you let me make love to you," she ran her hand underneath Rachel's shirt, "don't think I'll give up".

Rachel's breath hitched as Quinn's fingers ran across Rachel's sensitive skin. "Agreed."

"Good," Quinn whispered as she guided them towards the couch she had been on earlier.

Quickly, their argument was forgotten and their focus turned towards easing the ache that they each held within while they were once again counting down to zero. Quinn slowly removed Rachel's shirt, and kissed a path across the expanse of skin the cloth once covered. She counted the kisses as she made each one. She did the same as she removed the rest of Rachel's clothes and kissed every bit of beautiful that was revealed to her. Even as she slid her fingers into Rachel's core, Quinn counted every stroke. She tattooed the count into her brain. She promised herself there would be no more countdowns…not like this. They couldn't live their lives…together like this.


	14. Chapter 14

RUIN

She is always questioning when she will reach her pinnacle. She accepts that her life…part of her life will always consist of running towards an unachievable ideal. She will never actively seek to lower her standards. She will never let anyone talk her into believing in the words 'good enough'. But, she vows that her unachievable ideal will not impede her happiness. It will not get in the way and it will not ruin the things she has let it ruin in the past.

She makes this vow every day now. Sometimes she makes the vow silently, but more often she makes the vow aloud. She doesn't care if her words are being overheard. She almost prefers to have a witness. Making a vow when no one else is around she thinks might be akin to a tree falling in the woods without anyone around to hear it, just an overused cliché devoid of its original intent.

"This is not more important than my happiness," she whispers to the empty room as she sits down at her place at the table. She promises that she'll make the vow again when the room isn't housed only by six chairs and a table piled with pencils and scripts, but she wants this time without interference from inquisitive colleagues.

She wants to sit and take in this moment without anyone around to question her sanity. This is the beginning of something bigger and she knows now is the moment for her to sit and promise that she will not become the slave to unachievable perfection. She will not give up her happiness. She will not compromise her marriage. She will not get sidetracked by her being The Next Big Thing.

Her series has been picked up. It's been named the breakout hit of the new season. It's been said to add life back into a genre that is suffering from overwhelming clichés. Her contract is signed and she is locked in for two full seasons. She is closer than she has ever been to her pinnacle. She is closer than she has ever been…"This is not more important than my happiness," she repeats.

She hears the door open and is ridiculously satisfied that she has said her vows, because a rush of adrenaline shoots through her. She is ready to be swept up by the feel goodness that will come as her colleagues filter through the room excited about the doors that are suddenly open to them.

"Hey, Overachiever," Her costar mutters as he slinks into the room, sunglasses covering his eyes. "I shoulda known that you'd be the first one in."

She no longer scoffs at the nickname she was given before the filming of their series even began. She considers the title a badge of honor since her work ethic earns her the highest salary of all the cast and their executives' respect. "I'm surprised to see you here," she idly comments as she reaches out and snags a script to review. "You smell like a brewery."

He shrugs. "I was celebrating," he explains. "Long term employment is a wonderful thing."

"It does have its perks," she admits, "but I hope your celebrating doesn't get in the way of work."

"Ease up, Rachel," he removes his sunglasses and then flicks them onto the table. "I'm not a weak link."

Rachel eases back in her chair. She overlooks her leading man, making note of how handsome he appears even after a long night of obvious excess. His hazel eyes are bloodshot but still captivating. His hair is in sexy disarray. His rough edges add to his appeal. Silently, Rachel praises Leona's casting abilities. "It's easy to become the 'weak link', Maxwell," she advises. "It's easy to become the thing you always promised you wouldn't."

"Woah," Maxwell holds up his right hand, "too serious, too early, too fast," he says. "I know you're the seasoned expert compared to the rest of us, but maybe we can save the heart to heart for another time."

"You're right," she apologizes, "But I don't want to see Leona fire you prematurely, Maxwell. You have a lot of talent and it's easy to get swept up in some of the unfortunate side effects of fame."

Compassionate eyes survey her taking in the serious mood that sweeps over the room. "Are you speaking from experience?"

She thinks back to the consequences she faces in her life and the concessions she's made for the life she's chosen. Even now, her wife is traipsing around in shadows waiting for an adequate opportunity to engage in a relationship with her biological daughter. Quinn returned home from Ohio only a couple of weeks ago and still stays motionless in regards to Beth. Rachel suspects fear is only part of the reason Quinn remains in inactive paralysis. Rachel knows that her series' recent successes also play a role in Quinn's reticence.

"Do you know that I'm married?" Rachel softly asks her costar.

His eyes widen at the unexpected admission. "Married?" he repeats. "As in married, married?"

"As in love of my life married," she shyly admits. Her eyes focus on the table in front of her but her mind gives her a perfect picture of how Quinn looked this morning right before they were forced to pull apart and face the day.

"Well…" he draws out the word obviously unsure of what his next words should be. "Congratulations?" Fighting a hangover and not confident of where this conversation came from or where it is going, 'congratulations' is the best he can come up with. "Who's the lucky man?"

Rachel's eyes rise from the table and she once again focuses on her costar. She evaluates his demeanor trying to ascertain whether or not he is deserving of the information she is about to share with him. "Quinn Fabray," she tells him meeting his eyes.

His forehead scrunches up, uncertain that he has heard correctly. "Supergirl?" He inquires.

Rachel rolls her eyes, but a small smirk escapes. "Yes," she sighs, "Supergirl."

He has the urge to repeat his question, knowing that he still is suffering from the side effects of the various uppers and downers he ingested the previous night, but he refrains. Instead, he thinks over all the information he has managed to gather about his leading lady since they started filming the series. He thinks about Rachel on her mobile phone talking in the corner with a full array of emotions transitioning on her face. He thinks about how Rachel doesn't speak about sexual escapades or a short line of lovers. Rachel talks about long weekends spent out at her home near the middle of nowhere.

Like too many others, Maxwell has looked over Rachel, categorized her, and then marked her off his list as someone worth knowing past the hellos and goodbyes given at work. He has assumed that Rachel was the first to arrive this morning because she has no life outside of it. He has assumed that his costar lives for nothing but the fame. She is the most experienced of the all the cast. She is the most recognized and he can even admit is probably the most talented. He has not considered that she is more than her talent. He has not thought about Rachel's life outside the walls they so often meet in.

"She was hanging around set the other day," he mutters, remembering the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach as he set eyes upon the Quinn Fabray. Her presence had been a surprise and he found himself feeling awestruck by the mega star that walked in as if she had a right to be there. He had seen her briefly engage Leona Conroe in conversation but then had disappeared and he didn't get the opportunity to roll up his tongue and try and talk to her.

He remembers being a few years younger and going to see the first Supergirl movie. He had been in the movie theater transfixed by the woman who had, at the time, mostly been an unknown name. Like so many others he had instantly fallen in lust and had vowed that one day he would be famous enough to work with Quinn Fabray. He had even entertained fantasies of sweeping Quinn off her feet and romancing her into his bed.

"We had a lunch date," Rachel tells him, fascinated by the series of emotions that are flittering across Maxwell's face. This is not the first time she has had the opportunity to see someone react to finding out that she is married. She has experienced this moment of revelation before, and can't help but think she is once again wasting it on the wrong person. She thinks that perhaps she should actually admit her marriage to someone who matters. She should have saved it for an occasion beyond 'guess what, I'm married'.

"You're being real here, right?" Maxwell questions. "You're not just trying to mess with my head since you're allergic to fun?"

"You need to do what you want with your life," Rachel tries to rein the conversation back to where it had originally started. "I'm not going to police you. I can assure you that you aren't as important as you think you are. And yes, Quinn Fabray is my wife. We are married."

Maxwell shakes his head pushing away Rachel's blunt appraisal of his worth. "So why are you telling me this?" He asks. "Why now?"

Rachel turns away from his penetrating gaze. She really has no good reason for why she has chosen to announce something that she has never quite felt compelled to announce before. The only thing she can come up with is that she just…needed to say it aloud. "Consider it a helpful tip," she whispers.

"Tip?" Maxwell leans his elbows onto the table drawn in by the Rachel's unique intrigue.

Rachel again thinks about the tree falling without a person around to hear it. Does it make a sound? If she were to confess to Maxwell her lessons learned than would that make them anymore real? She tilts her head slightly, her eyes flutter shut and again she brings up her memories of her wife. She thinks about how just that morning they shared a hot cup of tea. She thinks about how they planned out their day and made promises about meeting up to end it together.

The things they share are so simple. And the things they share are theirs alone not to be used as a lesson that is probably not even ready to be learned. Even if she does need to say it aloud, Rachel realizes she still wants to tightly guard over her marriage. She wants it to remain theirs and theirs alone. She doesn't want to invite anyone to hold it up as an example on how to live under the radar when the spotlight is shining bright.

Rachel opens her eyes and then focuses on the man sitting across from her. "Just be careful, Maxwell."

Maxwell's eyes narrow. He is trying to make sense of Rachel's words but after a few short moments of trying to decipher a possible meaning he surrenders with a shrug. "Like I said, Rachel, too serious too fast too early." He reaches out for his discarded sunglasses, places them back on his face, and then leans back in his chair. "Your wife is hot, though. We should hang out."

"Wife?" The inquiry comes from their supporting actress, Tanya, who is standing in the open doorway. "Did you sleep with someone else's wife, Maxi Pad."

"Fuck off," Maxwell mumbles as the adrenaline caused by Rachel's revelation drains away. "Or just eat shit and die. Whatever you're more comfortable with."

Rachel shakes her head and focuses her attention back on the script in front of her. She is accustomed to the inappropriate conversations that often take place between Tanya and Maxwell. She no longer tries to step in when their banter becomes unprofessional. She, instead, lets it spiral out of control knowing that Leona will fire one or both of them if it becomes too much.

Tanya turns her full attention to Rachel, "Good Morning," she says with a smile. "What did you do to celebrate the big news?"

"I had a prior engagement," Rachel cryptically answers not wanting to share anything else about her personal life.

"Exciting," Tanya flatly replies her sarcasm not lost on anyone in the room. "We went out to dinner. I'll invite you next time."

"I look forward to it," Rachel replies knowing that she'll find a way to refuse Tanya's offer if it ever does come.

"You'll have fun, I promise." Tanya lays a comforting hand on Rachel's shoulder. "It'll be casual, nothing at all like the perverted depravity Maxi partakes in."

Maxwell ignores the comment. He leans back even further in his chair and tilts his head so that neither Rachel nor Tanya is in his line of sight.

Tanya smirks, happy with the small victory she's given in her ongoing battles with Maxwell. She moves to her seat next to Rachel and then sits down. She picks up one of the scripts, but doesn't bother to open it. "So did you see Leona hanging out with Quinn Fabray the other day?" She casually asks as she places her purse on the floor. "Do you think Leona is trying to get her to sign on?"

"I doubt it," Maxwell mumbles. "Quinn Fabray is too big for the small screen."

"I don't think Quinn is stuck up like that," Tanya disagrees. "A friend of mine worked with her and said she's pretty cool." She shrugs. "I'd like to get a chance to work with her."

"Why?" Maxwell rolls his head to face Tanya. "Ya got a thing for her or somethin'?" He asks with a raised brow.

"Of course I do," Tanya readily admits. "She's fucking Quinn Fabray."

Maxwell smiles, glad he's able to humiliate Tanya in front of Quinn Fabray's wife even if Tanya doesn't know she is being humiliated. "What do you think about it, Rachel?"

Rachel shakes her head. This isn't a novel conversation topic for her. She's often been surrounded by her peers when the main topic of conversation is her wife. "I'm not sure Quinn is interested in guest starring. She's taking a break from acting for a while."

"You believe that bullshit?" Tanya snorts. "Don't be so naïve. Quinn Fabray is probably just pulling some kind of publicity stunt to push up the box office numbers for the next Supergirl movie."

"Weren't you just saying that Quinn Fabray is the nicest person in the whole world?" Maxwell points out.

"We all do what we have to stay relevant. Rachel, you know what I mean, right?" She turns to Rachel seeking out support, but doesn't wait for Rachel to reply. "I mean, they're on the fourth or fifth Supergirl andthat well has got to be close to running dry. Talking about retirement will give a little boost in the numbers. It'll turn her millions into billions."

"She doesn't want to retire," Rachel clarifies, but is careful not to sound defensive. She's has a lot of practice in towing the line between intimate knowledge and personal opinion.

"Eh," Tanya shrugs, "whatever. She's still one lucky bitch, and if Leona could get her to guest star I'd happily embarrass myself to get into her good graces."

"And how far would you be willing to go," Maxwell smirks, "to get in uh…Quinn Fabray's good graces?"

Tanya picks up a pencil and throws it across the table towards Maxwell which he deftly avoids as it flies past his head. "You need to stop watching so much lesbian erotica, Maxi Pad. Real life is not like porn. Besides," Tanya settles back in her chair, "I'm pretty sure I'm not her type."

Rachel narrows her gaze and looks at Maxwell daring him to push this conversation past the limits it's already breeched. He meets her eyes and quickly relents. He hasn't thought much about Rachel's life outside of work, but he does know that within its context, Rachel has influence. It's no secret that Leona Conroe has more of an open door policy with Rachel than she does any of the other cast members.

Maxwell wouldn't accuse Leona of having favorites, an accusation like that might get him fired, but he is smart enough to know not to anger Rachel too much. He is perceptive enough to know to keep Rachel's confidence. "I'm not sure any of us are Quinn Fabray's type," he comments in lieu of voicing the lewd thoughts that are bouncing around in his mind.

Rachel settles back in her seat and once again looks to her script. It's their first read through, and she suspects that she is the only one in the room who has already been given an advanced copy. She's made notes and has already sent them off to the writing staff. She notices that the current script does not yet reflect the changes she suggested.

More people start to filter into the room. Leona Conroe is the last to enter, though her presence wasn't expected. Everyone sits up a little straighter as she walks in afraid she's there to announce changes that might mean any one of them might be out of a job.

Leona's eyes sweep over the room and she silently revels in the power she welds. "So," she leans over the back of the nearest empty chair, "I just wanted to stop by and tell everyone congratulations. Everyone has put in a lot of work and I'm glad to see some of it paying off." She pushes up off the back of the chair and tucks her hands into her front pockets. "I'd also like to make the official announcement that Rachel is now one of the producers."

All eyes turn to Rachel. She smiles proudly. Everything is finally sorting itself out exactly like she dreamt it would when she was younger. But, she promises herself, this will not get in the way of her marriage. This will not ruin all the things it has ruined in the past.

All At Once

Rachel knew that there was something wrong with the way she and Quinn had parted ways. They had told each other that they loved each other. They had kissed and embraced before they separated, but something about it left Rachel unsettled. She was almost confident that she had won their previous argument concerning their living arrangements, but she still felt like she had lost.

She had had this feeling before. It was when she had just left Ohio for Julliard and Finn Hudson, her high school love, had promised to follow her. He hadn't gotten into Julliard, but he had said that it didn't matter. They were in love and he would go to whatever school would accept him. He even said that he would work and help support her through her rise to stardom. He said all the right things and made all the right promises…and Rachel let him because it was romantic and everything she had wanted.

She moved to New York and Finn followed. She went to school and he got a job in an all night diner as a bus boy. They lived together for a year and half before she realized that she was growing up and part of that meant that the man she had always believed was the love of her life…wasn't. He was just Finn Hudson, a boy who she had loved once. When she had confessed to him her new state of emotion he had asked her to marry him. He proposed with a ring he had made from scrap metal.

It was romantic, sort of. It was enough for her to tell him that she would marry him. It was enough for her to convince herself that being in love wasn't just something that went away. It didn't disappear like socks in the laundry. Being in love was something that lasted.

So, she threw herself into their relationship. She announced her engagement to all of her friends and family and acted her way through being in love. She signed up on a wedding registry. She set a wedding date. She did everything she thought she should. And, she did it well.

She was well on her way to becoming Mrs. Finn Hudson when she first saw Quinn acting on a web series that had gained immense popularity. She had watched Quinn and a part of her had been inordinately jealous that Quinn had become a semi-famous actor while she had been stuck making wedding plans and acting in plays hardly anyone cared about.

Seeing Quinn seemingly well on her way to everything Rachel had ever wanted jarred Rachel. She reconnected with Quinn via the web series. They exchanged emails about being young adults caught up in the beginning stages of making a life, and it wasn't long after that Rachel moved out of the apartment she shared with Finn. She ended the engagement and refocused her attention on her career.

She stopped speaking to Finn, or rather Finn had stopped speaking to her, and she ended up marrying Quinn Fabray.

Fast forward a few years and Quinn was making plans to move to New York because Rachel wanted her career. She couldn't help but wondering if Quinn moving to New York might be the beginning of their end. It had happened to Rachel once before. She loved New York, but it had broken her heart once before already and she was convinced that she couldn't survive another ending like the last.

Rachel pulled out her mobile phone and then quickly put in a number. She impatiently waited for her wife to answer.

"Rach," Quinn's voice filtered through the speaker, "my plane hasn't even taken off yet."

"You can't move to New York," Rachel dramatically declared.

"What?" Quinn asked confused.

"New York is where I lost Finn," Rachel confessed.

"Finn?" Quinn sounded no more clued in than before. "Hudson?"

"I didn't marry him," Rachel tried to clarify.

"And I've always considered that to be one of your better choices." Quinn decided to go along with the conversation wherever Rachel might direct it. She had expected Rachel to freak out once they had set a move in date. Though, she had expected it to happen on the day Quinn was supposed to move in. Rachel had upped the timetable and Quinn didn't find herself completely prepared.

"But what happens when we move in together?" Rachel wondered. "What happens when we get caught in the inevitable predictable pattern of domestic life?"

"I'm going to go ahead and assume this conversation isn't really about me moving to New York."Quinn could not rein in her sarcasm.

"No," Rachel easily admitted. "This is about what happens after the honeymoon is over."

"Baby," Quinn chuckled, "we've been married for three years."

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Rachel chastised her wife. "I hate it when you do that."

"Why?" Quinn went ahead and got up from her seat. "Does it remind you of Finn?"

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you." Rachel settled her free hand on her hip.

"Fine," Quinn sighed. "But for the record, I'm not the one who brought up Hudson."

"I only brought him up to highlight my concerns," Rachel quickly defended herself. "He and I did not survive living together."

"Your relationship shouldn't have survived high school," Quinn was quick to point out. "You've said that yourself."

"So what makes ours different?" Rachel wondered.

"Rachel," Quinn warned, "please stop comparing me to Finn Hudson."

"I'm not," Rachel began to protest but couldn't complete her thought it since she knew that's what she had done. Quinn Fabray was in no way Finn Hudson, and Rachel understood that. "I'm sorry," Rachel softly apologized. "But, this is hard, Quinn. It's terrifying really."

Quinn continued walking towards the exit, and ignored the flight attendant who tried to call her back. "Everything about us is terrifying, Rach."

Rachel covered her eyes and focused only on the sounds coming through her cell phone. "Why?" she whispered not really needing to ask the question. She knew why. It wasn't one of her life's great mysteries. The answer stood in front of her with a bright blinking neon sign.

Why?

Because their love could be broken. It could lie at her feet in ruin. It could be taken for granted and slowly disregarded. Their love was vulnerable. It was always resting in the in-between places of Heaven and Hell. They could take a step forward and then fall apart.

It's just sort of how they lived—on the edge resting in each other's arms.

Rachel felt arms wrap around her waist. She uncovered her eyes and dropped her phone away from her ear. She let her weight fall against Quinn's body. It felt good. It felt dangerously safe.

"Our whole adolescence was a song and dance I don't want to repeat, Quinn." Rachel sighed. "I'm not strong enough for that." She wasn't strong enough for them to fall apart. It had been easy with Finn. He was a boy who adored her and she loved that he loved her. She didn't let him inside of her hopes and dreams, not really. She had turned their relationship into a spectator sport—she played in her plays and he watched her life pass him by.

Quinn had already told Rachel that she wasn't good with coming in second place, but it wasn't a warning Rachel had needed to hear. It hadn't been anything that Rachel didn't already know. Their high school years had sort of been their very confusing and misguided mating game. They had caused each other's tears and had just as quickly offered to wipe them away. They set the other up for failure only to be the supporter when failure was imminent. They dissected each other and then picked up the pieces.

It was all really…wonderfully terrifying.

"You can't move to New York," Rachel stepped out of her wife's embrace. "It won't work."

Quinn brushed her hair behind her ear. "Neither will Los Angeles." She shrugged. "You were right. You can't be my supporting actress."

"Well then it's decided," Rachel stood straighter. "We'll buy a house somewhere else."

"And where will that be?" Quinn skeptically asked. "Lima?"

"No!" Rachel adamantly replied. "God, no. I was thinking that we should buy a house in-between our two worlds, per se."

"Between Los Angeles and New York?" Quinn asked still not completely on board with the idea. "Do you really think that will work?"

"We will make it work," Rachel decided. "We will not fall apart."

Quinn reached out and grabbed a hold of Rachel's hand. "I thought I was supposed to be the strong one during this conversation. How did it get turned around so quickly?"

Rachel smiled. "I don't know," she confessed.

Quinn kept hold of Rachel's hand and guided them to the nearest chairs. They sat, hand in hand. "We really need to stop doing this," she said through a long exhale.

"Stop what, exactly? Rachel leaned against Quinn. "Making each other crazy? We've been doing that since we were practically toddlers."

"I'm not sure that's true," Quinn looked away to a distant memory. "I'm sure there was a moment before I fell in love with you when I found you tolerable."

Rachel slapped Quinn's shoulder. "You're not funny."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware I had a sense of humor."

Rachel rested her head on Quinn's shoulder. "I think you missed your flight."

"I'm pretty sure I did," Quinn settled her arm around Rachel's shoulders. "But there will be another. Do you want to go back to your place?"

"No," Rachel closed her eyes.

With her free hand, Quinn pulled her phone out. "We can start looking at houses in the middle of nowhere," she offered.

"Okay." Rachel kept her eyes shut.

Quinn opened her internet browser on her phone. She did a quick search to see which city looked the most like it rested an equal distance between New York and Los Angeles. She then went to a realtor website. "How many bedrooms do you think we need?"

Rachel quickly calculated their needs in her head. "Five," she muttered.

"Bedroom, guestroom, and a work space for each of us," Quinn listed out the rooms. "What's the fifth for?"

"Family," Rachel answered.

Quinn turned to her wife. "Family?"

"Family," Rachel repeated. "We want children."

"We do?"

Rachel nodded. "We do. We just don't know it yet."

"Okay," Quinn drew out the word as she looked back to her phone screen. "Six bedrooms."

Quinn went on asking questions about their desired specifications for their new home and Rachel answered. When their search was complete they had made an offer on a house near the middle of nowhere. That was the easy part. The hard part would come in making the house a home. The hard part would come when Los Angeles called and New York was waiting. But, sitting in the middle of a crowded airport resting against each other was easy. It was always easy to be together in these in-between places.


	15. Chapter 15

MOTHERLESS CHILD

She watches over her wife, because she isn't able to shake the overwhelming protectiveness that courses through her veins. She doesn't want to think negatively, but she is not an optimist. She has never been an optimist. Not even when she was a young girl and her life was painted all in pink, and sunshine covered a cloudless day was she an optimist.

She knows what happens when fame, overwhelming worldwide immediate fame, appears within a strong gust of a Hollywood wind. She has dealt with it; she is living with it. Thus far, she could protect Rachel from it, but she can't protect her wife anymore. She can't make the cameras turn to her instead, because they seek out Rachel Berry. They watch and they wait to capture private moments that will be dissected by a judging public.

Sometimes they are lenient. Most times they are overly critical leaving no margin for being human. There is no protective shield from their expectations. So, Quinn watches over her wife. She stands on the sidelines her eyes narrowed as she takes in their surroundings. She readies herself to step into the fray and draw up a defense if necessary. She stands ready to protect Rachel even from the people she loves.

This is why she wonders what Rachel's fame means to Rachel's biological mother, Shelby Corcoran, a woman whose dreams of Broadway never quite made it to fruition. Quinn can't help but wonder what vultures will come to pick on Rachel's suddenly too exposed flesh, because Quinn is a natural born cynic.

Quinn Fabray is also fabulous at fabricating reasons that hide her true emotions. It is easy to be fierce and protective. It's much harder to be weak in the knees from fear. It is easy to stand next to Rachel looking into Shelby Corcoran's eyes questioning her intentions than to turn her eyes to the girl standing next to Shelby.

It is easier, but easy could only last so long.

"Beth," Rachel's voice penetrates Quinn's protective haze, "this is Quinn."

Beth says nothing. Quinn opens her mouth to try and speak, but she quickly discovers that every single word in her vocabulary is terribly inadequate. So, she nods her acknowledgement but says nothing.

Her eyes meet Beth's and she is immediately struck by their differences. Beth's hair is dark and she has Noah's eyes. The differences strike a blow into her open wounds, because they are just one more reminder of how absent Quinn has been in Beth's life. It reminds her of how much of an influence she hasn't had in her daughter's life.

Some part of Quinn wishes that Beth is just a little bit broken from her absence. She wants Beth to be broken because Quinn is just a little bit broken. She wants this common ground, sadly she wants that connection.

"Why don't we show you your rooms," Rachel speaks up again. "I know that you had a long flight and probably want to clean up."

"Thank you." Shelby reaches out and slides an arm around Beth's shoulders. Beth steps tightly into her mother's protective embrace.

Quinn stands dumbly as Rachel leads Shelby and Beth upstairs. She watches not quite sure if she is supposed to follow. She is not even sure she could follow if she tries. She feels as if she is on the verge of an explosion and again it is much easier to be angry even if she can't come up with a viable reason for her anger.

She forces herself to move and walks out the back door. She steps out onto the porch and looks around for something she can destroy. She wants to wreak havoc. She wants to do something that will make her feel a little bit better. Though, she really can't pinpoint why she feels so bad.

She can't be upset that Beth is healthy and happy. She can't be upset at Rachel for finally inviting Shelby and Beth into their home. She can't be upset at Shelby for accepting the invitation. She can't be upset at anyone for anything they've done.

No one has done anything wrong. Everyone is perfect and everything is perfect.

She is the only one being torn apart at the seams. She is the only one who can no longer outrun her past. Her legs aren't long enough to carry her away anymore. Her feet are encased in commitment and responsibility. She welcomes her stability, but she also resents it.

Running away seems like a lovely idea. Quinn looks past her back porch to the open land that their house sits on. Nothing is around for miles. She feels like running, but she has already learned that running doesn't equate to freedom. Running often just changes the locks on her cage.

"You will have to talk eventually, you do know that?" Rachel speaks from the open doorway. Her stance is not threatening but Quinn can tell that her wife is moments away from becoming pushy.

Rachel is protective as well, and Quinn knows that Rachel has chosen to protect Beth. She doesn't want Quinn to do something that will psychologically harm the young girl. Quinn even understands that Rachel stands with Beth because in the long run Quinn wants it that way. She wants Beth to be everyone's number one. She wants her to be protected in ways that Quinn feels that she herself was not as a child.

"I talk and then say what?" Quinn asks, wrapping her arms around her body. She is still angry. She wants to lash out. So, she hugs herself to rein in what emotion she can.

"You say what you need to say," Rachel maintains her distance. She recognizes the body language that Quinn is displaying. This confrontation can quickly turn into a screaming match if she allows it. "Say anything. Just say something to her. She's terrified, Quinn."

Anger is also easier than fear, Quinn silently admits. "And I suppose I'm fine." She doesn't mean to be sarcastic, but all of her defense mechanisms are running in full force.

"No one is fine, but you are the adult here. It's your responsibility to rise above your emotions." Rachel has a whole speech prepared. She wrote it out long before Shelby's and Beth's plane landed.

Quinn knows that Rachel has tried to plan for every possible contingency. Rachel even bought an emergency storm kit just in case a horrible storm hits and they are forced to stay indoors. The hallway closet is now piled high with classic board games. Everything is planned out. Quinn's only responsibility has been to show up.

"When have you known me to be able to do that?" Quinn lets her arms fall to her side. It is the first sign that she is stepping out from her protective shell. It is also an invitation for Rachel to step closer.

"You don't have a choice." It's a bold statement, almost challenging, but Rachel says it anyway because she loves her wife.

Because she chose to show up and fulfill her one responsibility, Quinn doesn't have a choice but to stay. "I'll cook tonight," Quinn offers. "We'll eat outside. We should enjoy the fall weather before it turns too cold."

"No," Rachel firmly disagrees, "I'll cook. You'll spend time with Beth."

"Sometimes," Quinn says through a sigh, "I hate that you know me so well."

Rachel smiles and then says, "I love you, too."

"Okay." Quinn sighs again. She moves away from the edge of the patio and then walks to her wife. She places her hands on Rachel's waist and meets the eyes that haven't left hers since their conversation started. Rachel is being strong for her. Rachel has always been strong for her even when they were teenagers and their worlds were crumbling under adolescent drama.

She almost feels like she is in high school again and Rachel is the only one who is brave enough to chase after her. Rachel is the only one willing to face her anger. The difference is that now Quinn knows what the feeling in the pit of her stomach is when she and Rachel's eyes connect. She knows what the fluttery thing her heart does means.

Quinn leans down and brushes her lips against Rachel's cheek. As she pulls away she whispers, "Thank you for pretending like you're not as terrified as I am."

"Go talk to your daughter," Rachel orders.

"I haven't been there for her," Quinn softly admits. "She's not mine."

"I think Shelby felt the same way when we saw each other, but no matter how much we say that biology isn't important it still kind of is."

"Don't tell me that," Quinn chuckles. "That means that Beth might have my temper and Noah's lack of tact."

Rachel reaches out and brushes back Quinn's hair. "I think she has your eyes."

"I think you're imagining things." Quinn steps away. "But thank you for trying."

"Go talk to her," Rachel orders again. "I'll have Shelby help me with dinner."

Quinn rolls her eyes, but steps back into their home. She makes her way through the house until she is standing outside of the room she knows Beth should be staying in. She raises her hand to knock on the hard wooden door, but she can't quite complete the action. Her mind is not prepared for what happens after the door opens and she is left alone with her biological daughter.

"Get it together, Fabray," Quinn tells herself.

There is hardly half a second between her self-chastisement and her fist hitting the wood. The sound unreasonably startles her. She is even more startled when the door swings open and Beth is standing in front of her.

She wants to reach out to brace her weight against something, someone but she is standing alone. She has felt this alone many times before. Most of those times took place when she was around Beth's age.

"I…" Quinn begins to speak but her throat is dry and her voice is gone and she suddenly feels like she is sixteen years old again.

"Do you want me to close the door?" Beth timidly asks. "We can start over."

Start over? Start over. Quinn mulls over the cliché. She knows there is no such thing as starting over. There is only continuation and different choices to make.

Quinn clears her throat. "Thank you, but I don't think that's necessary."

Beth shrugs and then steps away from the door. "It's whatever."

Quinn steps into the room but leaves the door open. She doesn't want either one of them to feel blocked in. Beth has already moved to the bed and is resting atop the comforter. Shoes still on, bright yellow Converse High Tops to be exact. They are the baseline to black skinny jeans that have a white leather belt pulled through the belt loops. She's wearing a yellow vintage cotton short sleeved shirt with Big Bird from Sesame Street on it.

"Did Rachel get you that shirt?" Quinn asks once again flashing back to high school.

"Yeah." Beth looks down at her shirt. "How'd you know?"

Quinn shrugs. "Just seems like something Berry would pick out." She points to the bed. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"It's your house." Beth curls her legs to make room for Quinn.

Quinn slides down on to the edge of the bed. She places her hands in her lap and searches for something else to say. She thinks about asking about school, but that reminds her of the guilt induced visits she had with her father. He often wouldn't know about anything going on with her life so would ask her about school. Once she was out of school, he asked her about work. His questions were so often impersonal and generic and, Quinn doesn't want to be him. She wants to make an effort to actually think about the things that she knows about Beth's life.

So, she searches for the facts that Rachel has given her about Beth. She thinks about to all the times Rachel was pushing for Quinn to learn something about Beth. All of it seemed like facts given so long ago.

"We don't have to do this," Beth speaks up. "I mean, it's just kind of stupid to talk about something that will make us both uncomfortable."

So, Quinn realizes, Beth is her daughter. Quick to sidestep the emotional parts and move straight into letting unspoken feelings fester. "I am sorry that it makes you uncomfortable," But Quinn won't let the conversation die. It may have taken her longer than it should have to get to this point, but she won't leave Beth with the same feelings that Quinn has been left with because of unfortunate parenting.

"What's the point?" Beth starts playing with her belt. "My friends think it's just cool that I get to spend the weekend with Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray."

"Is that how you think of me? Do you think of me as 'Quinn Fabray'?" She doesn't want that. Quinn wants Beth to know that she is a person, that she is an individual.

Beth's gaze drops. "I guess so."

"I'm not her," Quinn softly clarifies. "I'm not that person you see on television or in the movies. That person doesn't exist. She's glamorous and wonderful, but she's not real."

Beth nods. "Rachel told me that before I came here."

Quinn smirks. "I suppose Rachel told you that I am infinitely more wonderful than the Quinn Fabray of the movies?" She is being sarcastic, because she suspects that Rachel has tried to keep Beth's expectations realistic.

Beth smirks as well, having caught the sarcasm. "I'm not really sure I completely understand what she was saying."

"Don't feel bad about it. It's taken me years to understand Rachel."

Beth looks back up and meets Quinn's gaze. "You and Rachel are good friends, huh?"

Ah, 'friends'. Quinn almost forgot that Shelby and Beth don't know that Rachel is her wife. She forgets that the world doesn't know about them when they are in their home sequestered from the world. They haven't had many visitors here; Beth and Shelby are actually the first.

Rachel's parents visit her in New York and Quinn's family doesn't visit. She goes to them. They haven't thought about sharing their home with anyone else. Perhaps, it is right that their home is opened to Quinn's daughter first.

"Rachel and I are good friends." Quinn vows once more to not be like her own parents. She doesn't want Beth to only know half of the story. "Rachel and I are actually married. We have been married for four years almost five and um…no one really knows about it."

Beth doesn't look surprised. Quinn expects there to be more surprise. "Did Rachel already tell you that?"

"Yeah, but she told me not to bring it up unless you did," Beth confesses.

Quinn shakes her head. "Of course she did. Does Shelby know?"

"Yeah, Rachel told Shelby and me not to come if we had a problem with it."

"I guess that means you don't have a problem with it?" Quinn guesses.

"I think it's weird that my sister is married to my birth mother," Beth plainly admits.

"I can understand that." Quinn could make room for weirdness. She figures there will be a lot of weirdness for awhile. This conversation was weird even. It didn't feel like the conversation they should be having, but they were talking and Quinn knows that is better than them avoiding each other. "So, did Rachel give you a full tour?"

"No, she seemed kind of distracted."

"I think we're all kind of distracted," Quinn says as she stands up and offers out her hand to Beth. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Beth looks to Quinn's hand and Quinn knows that Beth is contemplating if this Olive Branch is worth taking. Quinn doesn't want to push. She's not at adept at it as Rachel is. So, she waits and offers no more encouragement. She will let Beth move at her own pace.

"I think I'll just hang out here until dinner." Decision made, Quinn drops her hand. It falls lamely to her side moving almost as if in slow motion. "Maybe we can do the tour thing afterwards?" Beth asks guiltily.

"Whenever you're ready." Quinn takes a step away. "I'll let you know when dinner is ready." She hurries out of the room and this time does shut the door behind her. She turns and walks down the hallway and fails to notice Rachel standing in the corner watching her.

She almost pulls away when Rachel grabs onto her hand and then guides her towards their bedroom.

"Eavesdropping is bad manners." Quinn releases Rachel's hand and then moves to the window.

"Are you okay," Rachel asks ignoring Quinn's soft chastisement.

Quinn focuses on an image too far away for her to make out. "I'm fine."

Rachel shakes her head and sighs. "I'm not going to call you liar, not today."

"But you will tomorrow?" Quinn's sarcasm makes its return to cover up the pain she's just experienced. "If I'm a liar tomorrow then what am I today?"

"You don't want me to answer that." Rachel ignores the sarcasm because she knows that Quinn's question isn't entirely sarcastic.

"Of course." Quinn turns away from the window. "You told your mother about us and you didn't bother to tell me that you had. You should've told me." She is determined to pick a fight. She wants to lash out and Rachel is an easy target.

"I'm certain that you know why I did that." They never consulted one another about who they told about their marriage. They simply announced that they had. It was a symbol of their trust and respect. They didn't use it against one another. But now, Quinn felt like playing with that trust. She wanted to push something because she couldn't push herself.

Someone has to be a worse person than her. Someone has to be more wrong than she is. Someone has to be worse because she really wants to feel better about herself. She doesn't want to be the Fabray fuckup.

Quinn turns to Rachel. "Are you going to let me pick a fight?" She steps closer to her wife.

"I know that you hurt other people when you're hurt, Quinn, but you can't do that today." Rachel stands taller. She readies herself for a battle.

"Fine." Quinn reaches out and grabs a hold of Rachel's arms. She walks Rachel backwards until Rachel's back is against the wall. She then quickly entraps her. "So what can I do?" She asks as she leans down and kisses Rachel's neck. "Will you let me touch you?"

Quinn can be volatile, Rachel understands this. They both can be, but it's been a while since Rachel has seen her wife like this. It's been a while since Quinn has felt like this. Rachel doesn't know whether to give in or move away, but the choice is made for her when Quinn covers Rachel's mouth with her own and starts pulling at Rachel's clothes. Quinn knows that Rachel is giving in the minute her hands make contact against Rachel's bare torso.

Rachel gasps and Quinn feels better already. "Let me lose control," she begs.

Rachel doesn't reply. She just pushes up off the wall and switches positions with Quinn. She quickly takes over where Quinn has left off. She takes control for the both of them.

A BETTER DAUGHTER

They were moving their new furniture into the house when Quinn received the call that her father had died. He was a man with a weak heart that was already on borrowed time. Quinn hadn't even bothered to mention to Rachel that she had received the phone call until after they had finished moving in. She didn't want her father's bad timing to ruin what was supposed to be a momentous occasion in her life.

She wanted their memories to be untainted, but there was no taking back the phone call. Their day ended with Quinn telling her wife that her father had just died. The conclusion was inevitable because Quinn had to fly back to Ohio. She had to help her stepmother prepare for the funeral. There were arrangements to be made and Quinn somehow had become the stable reliable one in the family.

Her sister was off dealing with a failing marriage and two children. Her stepmother had just lost a husband and her mother wasn't married to the man anymore. Everything fell to Quinn and she wasn't going to push everything off to someone else.

So, she allowed Rachel to pack their bags and then she let Rachel drive them to the airport. They sat in the airport for two hours before a flight came that could get them close to Lima. It wasn't until they were in their hotel room that Rachel chose to break their silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Isn't it a little late to ask that?" Quinn threw off her clothes and then climbed into the bed. "We're already here. My stepmother already knows that I'm here."

"But do you want to do this?" Rachel asked again. "There are alternatives."

Quinn snorted. "You mean I can hire someone."

"No," Rachel shook her head, "I know you wouldn't want to do that."

"You're not talking about my sister are you?" She was being intentionally obtuse. She knew that Rachel was offering to take care of everything. She was willing to be burdened with all of the responsibility.

"I know that if you force me to spell it out for you then you're not going to accept my offer." Rachel turned away from the bed.

"If you take over then I'll run away," Quinn softly admitted. "Nothing will make me stay."

Rachel sat down on the bed. Then, she encircled Quinn within the safety of her embrace. "Baby, you don't have to be here."

Lima, Ohio meant to very different things to each of them. Rachel remembered their home with fond memories, with mixed in bouts of sadness. Quinn remembered their home with bouts of sadness with few fond memories mixed in. She didn't even like lingering on the memories of her and Rachel as children. She didn't like to think about how badly she had treated Rachel until they had come to a reasonable truce in high school.

For Quinn, home was where her heart had been broken time and time again. Home, for them just didn't mean the same thing.

"My father died, Rachel. I kind of need to be here."

"Okay." Rachel didn't loosen her embrace. "Then tomorrow we'll start making the arrangements."

Rachel released Quinn and then got up off the bed. She went into the restroom and closed the door behind her. She took her cell phone with her. She first called her parents to let them know that she was in town and staying with Quinn at the hotel. She then called their agents so that they would know not to bother them. She made all the necessary calls that needed to be made.

Quinn listened to Rachel explaining the situation to one person and then the next. She listened and tried to imagine what the night would have turned out like if they hadn't been in Lima. She tried to think of the homecoming they would have had in their new home with their new furniture.

It was a wonderful night she imagined. Just her and Rachel all alone. Both safe and sound in their own world getting one step closer to their fairy tale. They hadn't yet had the opportunity to christen each room with their love.

Quinn opened her eyes. Her focus still on the sound of Rachel's voice, but she began starting to focus on the words.

"Quinn's father is dead," Rachel was saying, "we're in Lima, Ohio and I'm not sure when we'll be available again. I don't want the press getting wind of this. Not this soon."

Quinn threw the covers up off of her body. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and smoothly stood up. Her imagination had stopped focusing on the fairy tale and was now conjuring up images of her dead father. She hadn't seen the body yet and she couldn't help but wonder what he looked like without a soul.

Then, she tried to remember their last conversation. It took place too long ago and didn't last long enough. They had tried to reconnect after he had his first heart attack. They had stepped back into each other's lives, but they could only go so far. They were too alike and too different to occupy the same space at the same time.

They were like nuclear fission. They broke apart and produced a massive explosion without awareness of who might be caught up in the blast radius. So they stuck to their sporadic phone calls and generic questions. They accepted their failures. Quinn accepted she would not be a better daughter and her father accepted that he would not be a better father.

Quinn leaned her forehead against the window. It was cool and eased her overheated skin. She thought that she might be supposed to cry. She thought that she should be feeling something other than the anger she felt at her father for ruining one more thing. She was angry at herself for letting him ruin it.

She slammed her hand against the glass, not meaning to break it; she just wanted to hit something. She wanted to release the anger that had been building since she had received the phone call from her stepmother.

Rachel heard the noise of the breaking glass and then rushed back into the room. Her phone had been forgotten on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

"Fuck!" Quinn yelled as she felt the cuts on her fist. She hadn't thought she was strong enough to break the glass.

"Quinn!" Rachel ran back into the bathroom and quickly grabbed a towel. She hurried back to her wife and then took hold of Quinn's hand. She didn't need to ask what happened. The window had a hole in it the size of Quinn's fist. "I think we need to go to the hospital," she said as calmly as she could.

"I didn't mean to break it," Quinn looked away from her hand. She let Rachel assess the damage.

"Your hand or the window?" Rachel asked, really not quite sure what Quinn meant.

"Neither I guess." Quinn looked to the window. A cool breeze was blowing through the new hole. "Do you think it's going to rain on the day of the funeral?" She randomly questioned, but didn't wait for Rachel to answer. "Because I was told once that the soul isn't carried away until it rains."

"We need to go to the hospital." Rachel wrapped the towel around Quinn's hand.

"Do we have to go to the same one my father died in?" Quinn finally focused back on the situation at hand. "I don't think I want to go there."

"I know, Baby, but it's the only one we can get to." Rachel moved Quinn away from the window.

"Don't we know a doctor or did every one of our classmates stay Lima Losers?" The anger returned. It spread to the entire Lima populace. She was angry at everyone and everything.

This Quinn was dangerous and Rachel understood that. There was dark sadness inside of Quinn that rarely gained control, but when it did it was hurtful and it was vengeful. It was part of what made Quinn such a great actor. She could tap into the hidden away emotion and use it to bring her characters to life. It drew people in with its tragedy.

"Do you think they'll come to the funeral?" Quinn wondered as she let Rachel help her back into the clothes she had just taken off. "Do you think they'll want to pay their respects?"

"Some of them probably will." Rachel assumed Quinn was referring to their former classmates.

"I don't want to see them," Quinn decided. "Funerals shouldn't be reunions."

"We'll talk about it again after you haven't lost so much blood," Rachel told her wife. "I'm not sure you're in any condition to make any decisions right now."

Quinn was feeling dizzy, but she ignored it like she ignored most everything else that made her feel poorly. Rachel led them out of the hotel and then to their rental car. She drove them to the hospital and made sure that Quinn was left in the best care. Quinn watched Rachel walk away and new that her wife was finding a quiet corner in which to panic. It wasn't like Rachel to be the calm one. She was so often the one acting overly dramatic and carrying on with excessive emotion.

Quinn looked over at her hand. The doctor was looking at it and nurses surrounded her. They were treating her like a VIP because they recognized her and Rachel Berry the minute they entered the emergency room. She couldn't even have a private breakdown.

The doctor was asking her questions about how much she had had to drink. He wanted to know if she was on any medicines. Was there a chance she could be pregnant?

His questions faded to the background of her mind. She answered without thought. Her eyes stayed focused on the hospital room's door and she patiently waited for her wife to return. When Rachel did step back into the room, Quinn offered her good hand for Rachel to take.

Rachel immediately grabbed hold.

"I'm sorry." Quinn kissed the back of Rachel's hand. "I probably should have just cried instead."

The nurses and doctor pretended like they weren't paying attention.

"You?" Rachel laughed. "Not you. That would have been too easy."

Quinn grinned. "You know me well."

Rachel stepped closer to the bed. She leaned down and then placed a soft kiss on Quinn's forehead. "If you ever hurt yourself like this again," she whispered as she pulled away, "I'll kill you myself."

"Yeah, I know." Quinn did know. She knew that Rachel wouldn't stand for violence. She kissed the back of Rachel's hand again. "Thank you for letting me lose control."

"Thank you for trusting me to take care of you."

The doctor cleared his throat and then interjected himself into the conversation. He talked about stitches and offered to call in a plastic surgeon for a consult. He suspected their might be light scarring.

Rachel answered all the questions and made all of the decisions. She kept Quinn's hand held firmly in her own and didn't let go until Quinn opened her eyes the next morning. It was a new day with the same scars, but Quinn still felt better. She felt as if something had finally been cemented between her and Rachel. She couldn't identify it, she wasn't even sure it was important for her to give it a name. It was just there. It was the last piece to the puzzle.


	16. Chapter 16

PUPPETS (PRESENT)

She stands amongst the crowd and does the very things she has always dreamt of doing. She poses in front of the cameras and answers the same ridiculous questions a thousand times. She smiles and waves to fans as she struts further down the narrow walkway that separates her from everyone else.

She is important. She is in a position of power. She is shown great respect and appreciation. And it's all because she's finally become a household name. Seventy-five percent of women between the ages of sixteen and thirty-five recognize her face and sixty-six percent recognize her name. Her ratings are lower amongst the male population, but she's just attended an hour long meeting with the producers and writers to discuss how to pull up the numbers.

She lives in the trappings of a new world. Everyone here knows her name. She's part of the A-List and no longer just Quinn Fabray's 'date'. No longer is she Quinn's supporting actress. She is now the Rachel Berry. She stands alone and people speak to her because they want to listen to what she has to say. In a crowded room she stands as the center of attention. All eyes are on her, envying her popularity or coveting her presence.

So it is ironic, that all she wants to do is to reach out her hand and find Quinn's hand reaching out for her. She wants to feel the warmth of her wife standing next to her. She wants Quinn Fabray to field some of the ridiculous questions that keep being thrown at her like fistfuls of sand into the ocean. They're swept under the current and just become part of the onslaught losing all distinction and meaning.

She is exhausted from it all. The early mornings that go into the late evenings drain her of energy and she doesn't feel like standing on her own anymore. She doesn't want to be pushed to the foreground as another party is thrown to celebrate the same things that have already been celebrated ten times before.

But this celebration is being hosted by a different sponsor, so it's all brand new again. She has to make sure that she mentions the sponsor's name as much as possible in her short interviews. She even has to pay attention to whether she is standing in front of the appropriate logos every time she agrees to take a picture.

Rachel looks across the room and is disappointed that she doesn't find her wife amongst the crowd. Quinn has promised to make an appearance, but it is easy to never be found in a crowd this large. Rachel and her fellow cast are given the VIP section and security is tight. Rachel doubts that Quinn will have a problem making it past the guard and into the VIP area, but nothing is ever a guarantee. Nothing in her new world can be guaranteed.

Sometimes she feels as if this life, this new aspect of her life, is nothing more than a snapshot. One day she might look back on these memories and just see the still frames of what her life once was like. It's hard to get this type of attention and attentiveness to last. She knows it. She already sees her wife's popularity beginning to fade just because Quinn decided to step aside for her biological daughter. Quinn wants the lights to fade and, after the initial sensationalism that occurred when the world found out she had a daughter, they have been and are fading.

"You don't look like you're having fun," Leona comments as she steps in beside Rachel and surveys the crowd.

"I'm not," Rachel honestly replies. She sees no reason to pretend with Leona.

Leona silently laughs. "Welcome to the brave new world, Rachel," she says knowingly, "and all of its beautiful people. But, please try and act like you're having fun."

"You're being serious." Rachel knows that while Leona does have a sense of humor, this is not the setting in which Leona would unleash her dry wit. This celebration represents a lot of money exchanging hands and a good chunk of that money makes it into Leona's pocket. Rachel's learned that Leona doesn't often find finances amusing. If Leona doesn't find sponsors to pay the bills then that means she will have to pay the bills herself, and Leona's first rule to success is to never spend her own money.

"Perk up." Leona reaches out and grabs a drink off of one of the trays being toted around. She hands the glass over to Rachel. "Ms. Fabray has finally made her appearance. She's outside doing her quick walk down the galley."

Rachel sips at her drink, realizes how horrible it tastes and then sets it down on the nearest table. "I told her to avoid all of that."

"I like her being seen by the cameras," Leona comments. Her eyes are still roaming over the crowd and Rachel gets the sincere feeling that Leona does in fact see everything. It's ridiculous of course to think that, but Leona always seems to know all the things really worth knowing.

She even knows about Quinn's appearance even though Rachel hasn't mentioned it. Rachel has actually made a point of not mentioning that her wife would be showing up. She doesn't want Quinn's notoriety to be used for the dollar signs she sees shifting around in the eyes of the other producers.

"If you're going to use her name then you should pay her for it."

Leona nods. "You bring up a good point." Leona sighs and then repositions herself so that she is standing in front of Rachel. "I wanted to talk to you about Fall sweeps."

"I do have a few ideas." Rachel focuses her attention completely on Leona and stops looking for Quinn. Her worries are somewhat eased since she now knows that her wife isn't backing out of a promise. She also realizes that she's currently working and Rachel is always the utmost professional.

"So do I," Leona interrupts before Rachel can say anything else. "I want Quinn."

Rachel's eyes widen. "What?"

"Quinn," Leona repeats. "I want her to make a special appearance and I want you to make that happen."

Rachel levels her gaze at Leona. She stands as straight as she can, preparing herself for an argument. "You know that Quinn doesn't want to do that."

Leona meets Rachel's gaze. "I know so many things I wish I didn't," she idly states.

"If you are, in some way, planning to use what knowledge you have about Quinn and me against us then…"

"You can say no," Leona once again cuts off Rachel's words. "But, I really think you both should consider it. I'm not offering a permanent role. I'm just offering a little bit role that will raise our numbers and give you two some quality time together."

"I won't ask her do something she doesn't want to." Rachel refuses to let Leona's words sway her. She won't pull Quinn back into the fold.

"Sometimes," Leona steps away from Rachel, "you have to look past what other people say they want and uncover what they need."

So many things about Leona confuse Rachel. She doesn't understand the woman, nor does she think she really wants to. Rachel is not naïve enough to believe that Leona doesn't have personal motives for each and every one of her actions. She has known Leona long enough to understand at least that, but she lets Leona remain a mystery because it makes things easier.

"Consider it." Leona's eyes move away from Rachel towards another mark across the room. Her attention is already being housed elsewhere. Perhaps, she considers this battle already won.

Not for the first time, Rachel wonders just how much she will become like Leona Conroe. She wonders when the Next Big Thing will be like a new drug offering her a new high. She wonders when the art will mean less to her than the commercial success of her product. She wonders when her personality will seem almost half electronic. She wonders when her charm will be used to offer false comfort.

She wonders because she knows that so often as she was dreaming up what a life under the spotlight would be like, she wanted not just the notoriety but also the fame. She wanted not just her singing voice to be heard, but wants her personality to be felt. She wants power, real power, not just the pick of the month power. She wants staying power. She wants to be the person called in to save the sinking ship. And, for better or worse certain sacrifices accompany that sort of desire. Staying power is not something easily earned or freely given.

Rachel recognizes that while she might be the center of attention, Leona is the puppet master. She controls almost everyone in the room. Since Rachel is standing in the room that means that Leona controls her as well. It's a humbling fact and a sad realization.

"You look upset." Rachel feels Quinn's whispered words blowing softly into her ear before she hears them. The feel of them make her close her eyes and take in a calming breath.

"I am," she answers as her eyes drift slowly open.

"Should I ask now or wait until later?"

Rachel smiles as she looks over her right shoulder and her eyes finally see the only person they've wanted to see all night. "I'm not sure it matters. I'm going to be upset about this now and later."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "Who are we angry at?" She asks conspiratorially.

Some things, though, Rachel knows Leona will never be able to control. "How was your walk in?"

Quinn looks slightly confused at the abrupt change in topic, but answers smoothly anyway. "It was what it always is."

There's no need for more detail than that. They both already know that variety doesn't come along at these types of events. There are cameras. There are lights. There are event staffers running around making sure everything is running as smoothly as possible. Money is being spent and money is being made.

"There is one rumor, though." Quinn takes half a step closer to Rachel. They are almost touching and can feel each other's body heat, but their distance still leaves room for all the other eyes in the room to guess at what secrets Rachel and Quinn share.

"One rumor?" Rachel asks as she forces her body to remain still instead of allowing it to fall into Quinn's ready embrace.

"Well, besides the normal rumors of me being pregnant, engaged, or abusing substances," Quinn clarifies.

Rachel turns around. She does not take this matter lightly. "I have absolutely no intention of asking you to do anything regarding the show."

The energy between them flares and they both know that the added tension comes from the question Rachel isn't asking. It no longer needs to be asked, because it exists between them now. It's been created without their permission and despite their intentions.

"I'll do whatever you need me to," Quinn offers.

"No." Rachel's denial is adamant. She doesn't want this. "You don't want to and I don't need you to."

Quinn nods. "But do you want me to?"

It is a fair question, a good question even. One Rachel really doesn't want to answer because of course she wants Quinn to be a part of the series. Yes, emphatically yes she wants it. She wants to share the small screen with her wife. She's always enjoyed performing with Quinn. She wants to share this thing with her wife that they haven't shared since they were teenagers.

"Send me the script," Quinn commands as Rachel's silence becomes an answer.

Rachel looks away and around at the people surrounding them. Somehow, she forgot that they are standing in a crowded room. Some people are staring at them. Some appear too involved in their own lives to worry about what's happening outside of their world. Still others are looking not wanting to be caught.

"No," Rachel whispers as her eyes focus back on her wife. "You don't want to."

"I want to for you." Quinn reaches out and places her hand on Rachel's arm.

Sometimes Rachel thinks she knows her wife better than she knows herself. She has moments of absolute clarity where she knows the exact thoughts bouncing around in Quinn's mind. These are the moments she is willing to do anything to make Quinn the happiest person in the world. She'd try to climb up to the stars just to bring Quinn back the moon.

Yes, the feelings are cliché and sappy. They are borderline unrealistic, but Rachel sometimes feels that her relationship with Quinn is borderline unrealistic. Their lives are unrealistic.

Rachel leans forward and places a chaste kiss on Quinn's cheek. "Thank you for offering," she says as she pulls away.

Quinn's hand is still holding onto Rachel's arm even as Rachel is resting within Quinn's personal space. The tension between them flares again.

"Thank you for not accepting." Quinn's hand drifts down Rachel's arm and then settles on her wife's hip. "I like it when you choose me over your career," she admits. "But I think I'm going to guest star anyway."

Rachel closes her eyes and shakes her head as a soft laugh escapes. "Why?"

"I miss you," Quinn freely confesses. "And being a house wife is driving me crazy. It's letting me understand my mother better and that's just not okay."

"You could try doing something else," Rachel suggests. "You have an opportunity to be whatever you want without the pressures of paying the bills."

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "While being a kept woman does have its appeal, I think I'll pass."

Rachel shakes her head, knowing Quinn's comment isn't only innocuous but also untrue. Quinn doesn't need financial support, and she is nowhere near being a kept woman. "Then, what role do you want to play?"

Quinn's eyes leave Rachel's and she searches the room. Her eyes stop roaming once she sees Leona. "I thought the prestigious Ms. Conroe would already have it written out."

"I refuse to let her control everything," Rachel petulantly states. "I am a producer as well. At some point, she'll have to respect my authority."

"Are you sure she believes in free will?" Quinn sarcastically asks.

Leona turns to face them, then as if she heard Quinn's sarcasm from across the room. She looks at them and raises her glass.

"You really don't need to do this," Rachel whispers as her eyes meet Leona's.

"Neither do you," Quinn replies.

Rachel truly believes that performing was spliced into her genes at conception. She was born to do it. It was her passion before she understood passion. "I can't be a kept woman," she admits. "I demand too much attention."

"We've always had that in common." Quinn turns her back to Leona, effectively closing the executive producer out of their conversation. "We both want to be number one no matter the consequences."

She steps forward and wraps an arm around Rachel's waist. "Maybe we can finally share the spotlight."

Rachel laughs a full hearted laugh. "You think we can survive that?"

"I'm just guest starring, aren't I? We can make it that long."

Rachel's eyes twinkle with delight. "You know I'll be your boss? So, technically I'll be number one and you'll be my…backup."

Quinn leans further into Rachel. "Oh that's completely unacceptable."

"Eventually, you'll understand this is the optimum situation." Rachel feels compelled to leave in even further, but she clamps down on any urge. The crowd has only partially disappeared. She is aware of where they are and who exactly is watching them. Yet, she finally feels like she can relax. Her stresses of the day are beginning to fade and she suddenly doesn't mind so much that she is celebrating the same things she's been celebrating for weeks now.

Venus Kind of Love (Past)

Rachel held Quinn's hand as Quinn's father was lowered into the ground. The entire town was present and she hated that most of them were present because they wanted to get a glimpse at the two stars in their midst instead of out of respect to Mr. Fabray. She tried to shield Quinn from the attention, she even had the foresight to hire security personnel, but it wasn't enough. None of it would be enough to shield Quinn completely. Nothing could shield Quinn, but Rachel tried like hell to make everything…okay enough. She knew she couldn't make things better, at least not yet.

They attended the funeral and then went to Quinn's stepmother's house to meet guests. Quinn stayed for only thirty minutes before she felt like the attention she was receiving was inappropriate for the occasion. One too many people had asked for autographs. She hadn't wanted to go back to the hotel, so Rachel had taken them to her fathers' house.

She guided her wife up the stairs to her old bedroom and then sat with her until Quinn fell asleep. It didn't take long. Quinn had been up for too long to fight off sleep anymore. Rachel watched Quinn until she was sure Quinn was dreaming and then walked out. She went downstairs where her fathers were waiting with warm tea.

"I didn't know where else to take her," She idly commented as she finally took a seat. "She didn't want to go back to the hotel and I know she didn't want to be around people."

"You know she's always welcomed here," Hiram Berry said as he poured his daughter a cup of tea.

"We should go back home," Rachel dropped her head into her hands, a clear sign of her own stress. "She's never liked it much here."

"I guess she hasn't," Hiram commented. "She hardly ever comes back without you."

"Even then I think she'd be happier staying away," Leroy Berry added as he sat down next to Rachel. "Maybe she'll come home now more now that her father…" He didn't finish his comment since he knew it might sound insensitive.

"I don't think so," Rachel lifted her head and takes the cup Hiram offered her. "She wants to make a new home."

"A new home?" Hiram asked. "I thought she did that already in Los Angeles."

"We bought a house," Rachel whispered into her tea, "it's so much like here. It's calm and…it's nothing like Los Angeles or New York. I'm not even sure she realizes how much it's like home."

"'We'?" Leroy tried to clarify. "You said 'we' bought a house'."

Rachel brought her cup to her lips with shaking hands. She sipped her tea and then gingerly lowered her cup. "That's correct. We'll live there when neither of us is working on a project. We'll keep the loft in New York and the house in Los Angeles, of course."

Leroy opened her mouth, but a look from Hiram quickly warned him to hold back any biting commentary he might have.

"We'd love to see it," Hiram offered. "Tell us about it."

Leroy narrowed his eyes and shifted in his seat. He had plenty to say, but knew now was not the time to say it. He had always had problems with his daughter's relationship with Quinn Fabray. He often thought his daughter was being taken advantage of since they so obviously hid their relationship for some obscure reason he could only blame Quinn for. He didn't believe it to be in his daughter's nature to hide things like love. She had always so proudly announced the every beat of her heart from the rooftops. She didn't become…private until she had begun spending time with Quinn Fabray again.

He didn't like that year after year he and Hiram had to pretend to not know what was going on between the Fabray girl and their daughter. He didn't like that he couldn't ask Quinn what her intentions towards Rachel were. He wanted his little girl, his only daughter, to have it all. He wanted her to have a spouse and a family and he wanted her to be with someone who could teach her the values of family over career. He didn't believe for a minute that Quinn was that person.

"It sits on three acres so we have plenty of room," Rachel smiled as she recalled the house she was moving into with Quinn. "It's very rustic on the outside, but with modern interior. Quinn didn't want something so big, but I thought it would be nice to have our own work areas. I'm sure you know we don't always work well when we have to share things."

Hiram and Rachel laughed. Leroy didn't. He moved to get up, but Rachel's free hand reached out and she stopped him. "I love her, Daddy," she whispered, "and I really need you to understand that right now."

"Rachel," Leroy intoned. He didn't want to understand his daughter settling for a girl who couldn't even bother to mend her own fences with her broken family.

"Right now," Rachel blinked away tears, "I'm all she has and that means that right now you're all that I have. I'm going to go back upstairs and probably wake her up from another nightmare. Don't…not today, Daddy. Please, don't do this today."

Leroy looked down at his daughter. He didn't like seeing his daughter in pain and it was so easy for him to see that it was Quinn causing Rachel's torment. He wanted to protect Rachel from all the past hurts and future hurts Quinn had and would cause. Then, he remembered what it was like when Hiram's mother had passed away. He remembered the pain in Hiram's eyes and how helpless he felt to ease it.

The same helplessness was housed in Rachel's eyes and he knew that whether he liked it or not, his daughter was so completely bereft alongside the love of her life. "We'll take Quinn some tea, too." He said and then quickly started gathering up a teacup. "Does she prefer sugar or honey?"

"Honey," Rachel answered. "I'll meet you upstairs." She put her cup down and then stood up. She knew that Quinn wouldn't want her father seeing her in the throes of a nightmare.

She hurried upstairs and then walked into her childhood bedroom. Quinn was already sitting up on the bed staring absently at the wall. "How are the dads?" She asked upon seeing Rachel.

Rachel shrugged. "I think they're worried."

"They should be." Quinn combed her fingers through her hair. "I do plan on taking you away with me, and I know they don't want to let you go."

Rachel made her way to the bed and then sat down. She scooted over on the comforter until she could lean her head against Quinn's shoulder. "I told them we bought a house."

Quinn kissed the top of Rachel's head. "So they hate me more now."

"They don't hate you," Rachel immediately argued. "They just don't know you like I do."

"They'll never know me like you do, Berry." Quinn turned her gaze towards the door. She could hear one of Rachel's fathers climbing the stairs. "Did you invite them for a visit?"

"I don't think we're ready for visitors."

The door swung open further and Leroy entered with two teacups in his hands. He startled when he saw Rachel cuddled up to Quinn. This was the first time they had been this affectionate in front of him. Quinn held his daughter close and he could see that she clung to Rachel like a drowning man clung to floating debris.

"Hot tea," he announced a little too enthusiastically. "If you prefer coffee we can make some or we have…"

"Tea is great Mr. Berry," Quinn interrupted.

"Good, good," he handed out the cups to the women. "And I'm so sorry to hear about your father, Quinn. He was a good man."

Quinn stiffened. "I call bullshit on that," she muttered.

Leroy's eyes widened but before he could form a reply, Rachel ran interference. "He and Quinn had a complicated relationship."

"Well," Leroy smirked, "I guess if you want honesty, Quinn then I'm happy to say that your father was a real son of a bitch."

Quinn chuckled and raised her glass. "Here, here," she yelled. "He was a mean son of a bitch while sober and a real mean son of bitch when he was drunk."

Leroy crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. "I remember when he led the protests against gay marriage down at town square after the Defense of Marriage Act was overturned."

"I don't think he understood the concept of marriage." Quinn wrapped her arm more tightly around Rachel. "Or love, I don't think he understood that either."

"Well," Leroy sighed, "so few of us do." He looked over his daughter and her partner. "Count yourself one of the lucky ones."

"Always," Quinn whispered and then looked away. She didn't want Leroy to see the tears in her eyes.

"Hey," Rachel squeezed Quinn's thigh, "it's okay to cry, Baby. Daddy loves you, too."

Leroy uncrossed his arms and then sat on the edge of the bed. He had wanted to leave as soon as Quinn had started crying, but he knew Rachel's words were forcing him to stay. Rachel wasn't going to let him look at Quinn as anything but a hurt little girl who had just lost her father. She was going to force him to deal with their relationship and she wasn't going to give it up.

"Anything you need Hiram and I will try out best to provide," he offered.

Quinn wiped away her tears, still not wanting to cry in front of Rachel's father. She blinked a couple of times and then quickly composed herself. "Thank you."

"I feel like I'm missing out on the party," Hiram commented as he walked into the room. He had been prepared to diffuse a stressful situation but was happy to see Quinn wasn't being maimed by his husband.

"Have a seat, Mr. Berry," Quinn waved to the bed. "I think they're just watching me like a ticking time bomb."

Hiram smiled. "That's how they display their love."

"I know," Quinn answered knowingly. "Rachel smothers when she's being comforting."

"You do realize I'm still in the room?" Rachel drew herself in even closer to Quinn, glad that for once that her wife was actively participating in conversation.

Hiram waved his daughter's words away. "So when do we get to visit the new house?" he asked Quinn directly.

"It's a mess right now," Quinn replied. "We'll call you as soon as it's fit for company."

"We're not company, dear," Hiram said as he reached out and gripped onto Quinn's calve, "we're family."

Quinn looked at Rachel and then back at Hiram. "Then, I guess you can come anytime you like."

Rachel smiled proudly at her father's words. Glad that she had chosen to take Quinn to the right place even if she hadn't completely been thinking of Quinn she had made her decision. She had wanted to see her fathers, too. She needed them and she knew that if she let them know, that they'd be there for Quinn as well. And, they hadn't disappointed her. That was the biggest difference between her parents and Quinn's. Rachel expected her parents to do the right, supportive thing and Quinn always expected nothing but disappointment from her own.

"Thank you," Quinn whispered softly into Rachel's ear.

Rachel didn't reply, she simply kissed Quinn's cheek and then let her fathers draw them into inane conversation.


	17. Chapter 17

Hardwired

They stand in front of the crowd side by side waving at the people cheering their names. It seems like the same scene played out so many times before only slightly adjusted to make room for whatever new thing it is they need to promote this time. They are the talk of the nation since they finally shared screen time with one another. It is almost as if the entire world has been holding their breath, just waiting for Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry to share a scene together. The anticipation has been built and within moments the very special episode Leona Conroe has spent way too much money promoting is finally going to premiere.

Rumors are already floating around about their behind the scenes relationship. According to the news spreading across the land, Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray secretly hate each other. Rachel is supposedly bitter that such a big name star is stealing her spotlight and Quinn is terribly difficult to work with since she expects to be treated like royalty. She is Supergirl after all.

No matter what they do or which way they turn, there will always be rumors and conjecturing about the lives they live. They accept that. Quinn does a much better job of accepting it since Rachel is always intent on making truth out of lies. Quinn sees it as a fruitless battle, but she'll stand by Rachel in front of the camera letting the world know that they don't hate each other as their arms are loosely draped around each other.

She doesn't mind letting the world know that they chose to work together and weren't forced into it for whatever reasons they had been rumored to work together. They wanted to spend the time together and Quinn wanted to start working again. She wasn't good with having idle hands, especially since she still isn't completely sure who she is outside of being Quinn Fabray.

She has run for so long from the pieces of herself she hates that she doesn't know how to face them yet. Sadly, she really only likes trying to face her demons when Rachel is standing beside her. Trying to do it all on her own doesn't seem possible, and she isn't quite sure if her dependence on her wife is something to be lauded or feared. She wonders if this is what's supposed to happen when lives intertwine in hopes of being joined forever.

Quinn is looking down at Rachel as her wife speaks to the camera answering whatever questions are being asked of them from the people holding out microphones. Her eyes focus solely on the woman next to her disregarding everyone else. Her ears don't even really hear the words Rachel is speaking.

Eventually, her attention is torn away when someone shouts her name loud enough. She turns to the intruder and puts on a false smile. She knows the woman. She's a contributor to some website that focuses on lesbian entertainment. Rachel's show is garnering their attention since it is one of the few currently on television with strong female leads.

Quinn's arm falls away from Rachel and then she steps closer to the woman waiting patiently for her. "How are you?" She asks as she leans in so that she can better hear the questions she knows she's about to be asked.

"I'm good!" The woman enthuses, looking a little star struck. "How are you?"

"Awesome," Quinn yells. "The turnout here is really wonderful."

"Are you surprised?" The woman questions, obviously a little shocked by how obtuse Quinn is about her level of fame.

"I'm just really happy that Rachel's show is this popular," Quinn honestly replies. "She deserves it."

"You both do," her interviewer instantly replies. "Are you going to permanently sign on as a cast member?"

Quinn's eyes widen, "I hadn't thought about it," she lies. "If Rachel asks me then I'd seriously consider it."

Rachel has already asked and Quinn has already accepted. They consider themselves lucky that they have the opportunity to work with each other now since so often their careers ask them to be apart. They have always been chasing down the same dreams, they just took two very different roads to get here.

Though, Quinn was admittedly seeking to be rich, famous, and secure and loved while Rachel had just been seeking to do the thing she loved. In the end, it all kind of means the same thing. Especially since they stand together now their lives merged in ways that weren't possible when they were first married.

"There are rumors floating around about a relationship developing between Tanya Grimes's character and Christine Rodriguez's. Can you tell us if that's going to happen?"

Quinn pulls back feigning surprise. "Really? I didn't know anything about that. I know that the characters have really great chemistry and that Leona Conroe, the executive producer, wants to explore that. If it happens, then I'm all for it."

The development of the relationship is a strategic one. It was introduced just as Quinn was signing the dotted line on her new contract. After filming her first scene with Rachel, Leona took them aside and let them know they needed to tone down on the lesbian intensity. They were filming a show on network television, and on network television the main characters aren't gay.

Rachel's character, Leah, is meant to eventually fall madly in love with every eligible bachelor on the show until she settles on her happily ever after with Maxwell's character. Quinn is being introduced as Leah's nemesis and, well they aren't supposed to be in love. They are enemies and while they can use their chemistry to explore that relationship, the tearing each other clothes off vibe needed stop and desist.

Leona's answer to masking their relationship was to create a lesbian relationship with two supporting characters that can at any time decide that they aren't as in love as they thought they are. Leona is a master at re-writing reality and Quinn knows that it is an important skill to have in their line of work. She also knows that Leona is not trying to change the face of television. She'll keep to what works because she wants a successful television show that does little in regards to challenging their audience.

Quinn feels a hand cover her back and she turns to find her wife standing behind her. "I think we're supposed to be inside," Rachel tells her.

"Okay," Quinn replies and then turns back to her interviewer. "My boss is calling me away," she jokes.

Rachel rolls her eyes and slaps Quinn on the shoulder. "Whatever."

The interviewer gives them an odd look but then quickly smiles and thanks Quinn for her time. Quinn allows Rachel to pull her away from the crowd towards the theater. They have no real plans to sit and watch the episode everyone is raving about. They've already seen it and don't feel like watching it again. So instead of joining the crowd, Rachel guides Quinn to a VIP room reserved solely for them.

They take a seat on the one lone sofa in the room and within moments Quinn finds her wife resting against her. "Everyone knows I'm going to be a regular cast member."

Rachel nods. "Leona leaked the information especially for this event." She adjusts her position so that she can look up into her wife's eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

It's not the first time Rachel has asked the question and Quinn doubts this will be the last. She understands her wife's concerns. This is something very different than they are used to. They had grown accustomed to not sharing each other with anyone else, at least to the extent they will have to while working together. It adds a dynamic to their marriage that neither of them really knows how to approach. It mixes the aspects of their lives they have tried so hard to separate.

But is it what Quinn wants? "Of course," she admits and brushes her lips against Rachel's. She needs to believe that, whatever this new thing brings, their marriage will survive. She needs to believe that they are strong enough now and not standing on the edge of failure.

"There are, rumors too, you know about us," Quinn whispers.

"Which ones?" Rachel asks and by the tone of her voice Quinn knows that her wife is asking only to buy time for a better prepared response.

"About us, Love," Quinn chooses not to further clarify. She won't indulge in Rachel playing at being stupid.

"I don't want to talk about it," Rachel mutters as she tries to wrap herself even further into Quinn's hold.

"It's not going away." It won't go away especially now that every move they make is being scrutinized by millions. It is inevitable that the outside world will invade their sanctuary and they have no one to blame for it but themselves. They unlocked the door when they had gotten married and then flung it wide open when they decided to work with each other. Neither of them were good enough actresses to mask their physical intimacy when they were in the same room. Their familiarity with the other is hardwired into their souls.

"It doesn't need to," Rachel decides.

"Do you want to do something about it?" Quinn bravely inquires. She's not big on sitting down for interviews being asked about her personal life. She's never liked having to share herself with the world, and this is something she especially doesn't want to share, but she will if Rachel wants it. She'll sit on whatever talk show that will have them and will hold Rachel's hand firmly in her own ready to declare that they are in fact carrying on a sexual relationship.

It is the sex that everyone cares about the most, isn't it? It's what they really want to know about. Quinn doubts it will matter that she and Rachel share a life not just a bed. She can't imagine that it will matter to anyone that she and Rachel work hard every day to make each other happy. Not every one of their days ends with them falling passionately into bed ready to devour each other.

Some days end with Quinn falling asleep on the sofa while Rachel is working late. Some days end with arguments about petty things like who was supposed to wash the dishes and who was supposed to take out the garbage. Some days end with them in different parts of the world and they aren't able to communicate at all.

"No," Rachel finally answers, "I don't."

Quinn chuckles, wondering why it is they chose to consistently take the hard road. She imagines that they could be the next Ellen and Portia if they try hard enough. They can be the next generation of married lesbians.

"What are you laughing about?" Rachel sits up unsure as to which turn their conversation has made.

"I'm trying to picture us as the model lesbian couple," Quinn admits, laughter filling her voice.

Rachel's eyes narrow her mind instantly trying to picture what that would be like. What kind of model would they be? They married before they had even gone on a proper date. They lived separately for years and used their marriage as a crutch to stay together instead of as a sacred union.

Yet, now they share a home and are even involved in some small way in raising Beth Corcoran. They are financially secure and neither of them are in any sex tapes. Rachel's parents know about them, though Quinn's family is still ignorant of their relationship. That's to be expected, though, since Quinn's family knows very little about her and they have an unspoken agreement to keep it that way.

"I think we've done pretty well for ourselves," Rachel says perhaps more seriously than she intends.

"We have," Quinn easily concedes and then leans down and kisses her wife again. She lets the kiss linger pretending like they have all the time in the world to indulge in this moment.

They only separate when a soft knock sounds on the closed door. Rachel bids their intruder entry and neither of them is particularly surprised to see Leona opening the door.

"I'm awesome and I expect you all to recognize that when you win your Emmy's," Leona announces as she invades their sanctuary.

"We wouldn't know how to breathe without you," Quinn sarcastically intones as she pulls away from Rachel.

Leona smirks, "There's some truth hidden within your sarcasm."

Though she wasn't eager to readily admit it, Quinn knew that she and Rachel did owe Leona more than they could ever truly repay. For years Leona had been pushing Quinn and Rachel closer together. She has stepped in when things seemed about to break apart. She molded Rachel's career almost from the very beginning and gave them the opportunity to work together.

She protects them, though her motivations aren't always selfless. Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry have made Leona millions, and she has them so tightly wrapped in contracts with her production company that if she so chose, it would be very hard for them to defect. Thus far, she wields her power magnanimously, but both Quinn and Rachel know not to take Leona's kindness for granted.

"So it's time for you two to get back in there for round two," Leona orders. "And maybe this time you two might try not to hug each other during every interview."

"We aren't…" Rachel begins to protest but is quickly interrupted.

"Aren't what?" Leona asks. "Wrapped around each other like you're in post coitus?"

Quinn can see Rachel's intent to continue to protest so steps in instead. "We'll stand two feet apart at all times," she promises.

Leona offers a hand to each of them to help them up. "Let's not get crazy," she smiles, "A little bit of a sex scandal doesn't hurt."

Rachel pulls her hand out of Leona's and then pushes the other woman away. "Sometimes I can't remember why I even am in business with you."

"You like being successfully," Leona quickly responds letting her comeback hit its all true mark.

Through silent consent, they all turn towards the open door and then walk through it one at a time. Leona hurries off to see to some other detail while Quinn and Rachel rejoin the party.

They work through the night promoting themselves and their works appropriately. When the party finally ends, they stumble into the condo they bought together when they realized they needed a home closer to the studio. They are technically roommates and somehow that has been found out and instantly exploited by several websites and blogs. Apparently, it is unique that two stars for a hit television show live together.

"Let's go to bed," Quinn whispers as she wraps Rachel in her arms. "I'm dead on my feet and I'm supposed to be in early tomorrow."

"Really?" Rachel replies through a yawn. "Who are you making out with tomorrow?"

Quinn rolls her eyes yet she is a bit flattered by Rachel's jealousy. "I don't know, maybe I secretly get to make out with you."

"You wish." Rachel grabs onto Quinn's hand and then leads them into the bedroom. They ready for bed and then fall asleep curled up against each other like a boring married couple with a long week ahead.


End file.
